What remains of the Past
by onmyside
Summary: AU: Downton Abbey in 2013. The house is a 5 star hotel run by Claire Crawley and her parents Marjorie and Richard, the Countess and Earl of Grantham. The Grantham's have three daughters. Viola is the youngest at 31 and a journalist for National Geographic. One day she discovers something in the old attic that will change her life forever and allows us to time travel with her.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N_ _A nanowrimo project. Downton Abbey in 2013. The house is a 5 star hotel run by Claire Crawley and her parents Marjorie and Richard, the Countess and Earl of Grantham. The Grantham's have three daughters with Claire being the oldest and the one responsible for the business. Jane, the second daughter has left the house to live in London and runs a small restaurant there. Viola is the youngest at 31. A carefree woman, single, aspiring journalist for National Geographic. She doesn't want to be involved in all the boring business staff and loves to explore the house. One day she discovers something in the old attic that will change her life forever and allows us to time travel with her._

_**What remains of the Past**_

chapter 01

* * *

"It is supposed to be here _somewhere!_" Viola rummaged through the open drawers of her great-grandmother's bureau all the while muttering to herself. "I've seen it in here before. Damn it. Why can I never find _anything_?" She stacked piles of old postcards she had found in one corner on the left side of the small table, then emptied what was left inside the small drawer in the middle of the chaos she had created. All across the delicate antique Victorian bureau things lay scattered around. A valuable paper knife had fallen to the floor, some unframed photographs lay on the small chair that stood in front of the bureau. Old letters, children's paintings, and various other paraphernalia she had carelessly thrown behind her in the search for the key she was desperately looking for.

"Hah! There you are! Stupid little thing." With a triumphant look she held the old, iron wrought key up above her head. "I knew you were hiding in here. I _knew _it!" Viola started to dance around the small room, ignoring the chaos around her. She kissed the key and then slipped it into the pocket of her worn out jeans. "I'll have a better place for you, my precious. But first, we are going on an adventure." She almost laughed out loud at her own joke. Too many hours spend in front of the TV with one of her favourite movies. Before she opened the door to step out into the gallery she looked behind her once more, examining the state of the room. "Well, not my fault." She shrugged her shoulders. "Cleaning can wait for later." The door was slammed shut and Viola was happily walking along the gallery, the heavy key in her pocket, towards the green baize door that led her to the part of the house that was hidden from the eyes of the hotel guests.

Unlike the main staircase, which was grand and stately, decorated with a beautifully, hand-carved railing, the steps hidden behind the old door were well-trodden in the middle and the old brass handrail was only shiny in the parts that were often touched. Not many people still used these secret passages. Some of the maids they had hired to help them with the many rooms and the cleaning surely enjoyed the shortcuts the backstairs offered. But Viola's sisters or her parents never even thought about taking the old servant's staircase to move secretly and hidden from view between the many floors of Downton Abbey. She on the other hand had always enjoyed exploring the entirety of their home. Not just the parts they were living in or where their guests resided. There was so much to discover all throughout the house. She would never understand why the rest of her family refused to understand her love for the mysteries this majestic building had to offer.

With a spring in her step she climbed the many stairs, whistling a song that had been stuck in her head since the early morning hours. _All the single ladies, now put your hands up! Up in the club, we just broke up… _A maid passed by and greeted her rather formally. Viola would not have been surprised if the girl had curtsied for her. She sent a simple "Hi there" back, suppressed a grin and started singing the song loudly. It was so much easier to walk on, higher and higher, with a bit of music around her.

The more steps she climbed, the more the house changed around her. The usually tall windows that overlooked the backyard of the house, soon made room for small, simple square frames that only allowed half of the daylight in, making the top floor of the house a rather dark and mysterious place. She ran the last few steps upwards until she stood in the long, dimly lit corridor that had once been a home to the many servants her ancestors had employed. She tried to remember when they had let the last of them go. Was it in the late 1970s? Or earlier? The hotel was founded in 1975. Viola knew that much although it never really interested her. Business related things were her older sister's expertise, not hers. What she knew for sure was that there had still been a butler and a housekeeper around when she grew up in the early 80s. A kind, elderly woman who always gave her chocolate and cookies whenever she was down in the large kitchen, and an always sourly looking man whose only purpose seemed to be to bring the morning newspaper and the post into the dining room every day.

She looked around. So many doors to her left and right. Most of them now hid unused furniture or their old playthings from childhood. But once people lived behind those very doors. Most of them spent almost their entire lives working as servants for her family. The thought amazed Viola every time she came up here. It was like visiting a museum, a thing from the past long forgotten, something strange that did not seem real. But it very much had been. She tried to imagine what a life in service must have felt like. Getting up every morning before everyone else was awake, walking up and down all the stairs throughout the day, carrying out orders, not being able to take a day off whenever they liked, or go on holiday for a week! How could one live like that? How could people have a life like this where they could not make their own decisions because their employer made them for them? Viola shook her head to get rid of this depressing thought. There was no use to dwell on the past now. Maybe she should do some research about life in service and then write an article about it one day. It would be a very interesting study and her publisher was always open for new ideas. But for now, Viola tried to focus on the reason why she had come all the way up here.

She walked along the dusty floorboards that creaked with every step she took. Small paper signs at every door told her what was hidden behind them. _Furniture Drawing room, Children's clothes, Garden chairs…_ All of these rooms were rather exciting places where she would surely find one or two things for her rooms. There was always a piece of the past hidden in them she had yet to discover. "Don't. Not now." She told herself and her hand went into the pocket of her jeans to take out the old key. It would lead her to a much more interesting place: the old attic!

The last time she had been up there was years ago and her mother had accompanied her on their quest to find a new chest of drawers for one of the larger guest suites. Downstairs, Lady Grantham had only found _unsuitable _furniture that would not do the newly decorated room justice. And since Viola had always wanted to see the attic, she had agreed to help. She remembered the excitement she had felt when the large door opened, the strange smell, a mixture between old wood, leather and the dust particles that danced in the scattered light. From that day on she had always wanted to return to this magical place.

Viola reached the end of the corridor and turned right where a small passage led to the attic door. She turned on the light but although the old black Bakelite switch clicked, the bulb stayed dark. There was no additional window in this part of the house and despite not being afraid of the dark and mysterious, Viola felt a bit uneasy, though also strangely excited. Carefully she moved on, one hand feeling along the old stone wall until she reached the wooden frame of the door. Quickly she felt for the lock and inserted the key. It required a bit of strength to turn the bolt and Viola was a bit afraid she might break the key in two by using too much force. But then a satisfying click echoed through the otherwise silent servant's quarters and the door swung open inwards revealing the vast attic. Viola's paradise.

* * *

It was exactly like she remembered it. Old old furniture stood to the left and right covered with white sheets that had turned grey over the years. Obviously it should help to keep away the dust but Viola doubted this method was very effective. With every step she took, dust was raised from the surfaces around her and the particles formed the most impressive swirls in the sunlight that filtered in through the dirty windows. In the dim light she could make out a large cupboard and an impressive table in one corner, the chairs carefully stacked behind it. Across form this arrangement stood an old hope chest side by side with two old chests of drawers. So many wonderful things to discover! Viola stood in the middle of it all for a moment to take it all in and to remind herself of why she had come here in the first place.

An old ladder leaned against one of the ceiling beams that crossed the room. Above her head a few floorboards formed a kind of platform for extra storage. This was the place she had been looking for. Old suitcases and bags were stored up there. She had only caught a glimpse of them the last time she had been in the attic. Back then, her mother had insisted on quickly finding the required piece of furniture and then leave this _dreadful place _as soon as possible. But today, Viola planned on spending the rest of the day among the antique and forgotten furniture, browsing through history and the past of her family. Confidently she climbed the ladder until she had reached the platform. It was dark up here. Almost as uncomfortable as in the passage earlier. She looked around and up in the hope to find another window or hatch hidden somewhere in the roof. Her hands felt for a handle that might be concealed in the darkness and after a moment of intense search, her fingers brushed over a metal bar. Viola pushed it upwards and with a creaking sound, a small, rectangular hatch opened one metre above her head. "Lucky me." She could start her search now.

* * *

Her mother had suggested buying Viola a new leather suitcase to replace her worn out travel backpack that had seen half of the world already. Whatever argument she had brought forward to explain how impractical a fancy suitcase was for her travels, her mother had not stopped bothering her with this idea. To avoid another discussion in the evening, Viola had formed a plan she was right now executing with pleasure. Hidden away right under their roof, a multitude of old bags and suitcases only waited for their chance to be rediscovered again. Viola was sitting in the middle of them, surrounded by the large steamer trunks one could open on both sides like an actual wardrobe, smaller, worn out carpet travel bags as well as black and brown leather suitcases. Full with curiosity she tried to open the one nearest to her but the locks were rusty and stuck. She held it into the light. A label on the side, the ink faded but still legible, told her whom this suitcase once belonged to: _George Crawley, _her late grandfather. Viola tried again to open it, now even more curious if there was still something inside. But the locks would not budge. Carefully and a bit frustrated she tried the next one. A black one with a wooden handle. It looked rather new although the corners were a bit battered but the leather felt smooth under her fingertips and she could not find any cracks. When she lifted it to have a closer look at the two locks, Viola was surprised of its weight. This one definitely carried a secret inside. She searched for a label, a name, anything that would tell her who the owner of this suitcase was. But she could find nothing on the outside.

"Please, please, please, open!" she begged aloud. She carefully lowered it on top of her grandfather's case and pressed the clasps downwards. A faint click told her that this time she had been lucky. Viola stared at the open suitcase and waited a moment to control the excitement that threatened to overwhelm her. Then she tentatively lifted up the top and rested it against one of the steamer trunks. A past era, the memories of someone else's life began to unfold in front of her eyes. The suitcase contained stacks of letters, postcards, framed pictures and a few books. In awe Viola let her fingers run across the items before she picked up one of the books.

_Great Expectations – Charles Dickens. _

The gold lettering on the spine was fading but still intact. Carefully she opened the book and searched for the publishing date. _1892 – London. _So whomever this case belonged to had been alive in the 19th century. She examined the book further, looked for a name or an inscription but could not find any. Viola put the book down again and lifted up one of the stacks of letters held together by a light blue bow. Unfortunately the first few were only the handwritten pages without the matching envelope. They were addressed to a woman called Elsie and signed by a man called Charles. The date was June 1912. Viola scanned a few of them, still searching for a full name although she desperately wanted to start reading right away.

"One step at a time." She unfolded letter after letter but could only find the first names. The correspondence was sorted according to the date. What she held in her hands was the summer of 1912 and the fact that these words were written over one hundred years ago made Viola more nervous than anything else she had so far encountered. When she had finished sorting through the first stack, she started on the second and after the fourth letter she finally found an envelope with a London postmark.

_Mrs E. Hughes_

_Downton Abbey_

_Downton_

_Yorkshire_

The sender was a certain

_C. Carson_

_Eaton Square_

_London_

Viola looked at the date on the envelope. May 1911. These were even older. She put the envelope back and started reading the first letter.

* * *

TBC

please let me know what you think about this. I've never done something like that before and I'd really appreciate it, if you'd let me know whether you like the idea or if it is a silly AU setting :)


	2. Chapter 2

**What remains of the Past**

_A/N wow! thank you thank you thank you! For all the wonderful reviews! I think I never got so many for a first chapter. Anyway. Here comes chapter 2! _

* * *

**CHAPTER 02**

**1911**

He hated the beginning of the season when everything was in chaos and going topsy-turvy all around him. Charles Carson needed his routine, his staff to behave normally and to deal with the task at hand efficiently and with the utmost respect. Not this running around with suitcases and bags, trunks and riding equipment. He had arranged everything meticulously back at Downton Abbey and there the packing had been handled professionally and without unnecessary disruptions. Everyone had acted exactly according to the plan he had prepared in the days prior to their departure. But in London the staff was unprepared, untrained, hired only for the months of the season. Merely the housekeeper, cook and two housemaids were part of the permanent staff at Crawley house. And every year, Carson resented this set up because it resulted in unnecessary stress.

"Hurry up! We don't have all day!" He shouted at the young footmen who carried the suitcases upstairs to the bedrooms. This year all three girls had accompanied Lord and Lady Grantham to London. Previously young Lady Sybil had stayed behind in Yorkshire together with the Governess but a month ago, Lord Grantham had decided to introduce Sybil to London's high society. Although she was not yet of age and all of this could have waited another year. But Carson had no right to argue with his employer. He had made room for the extra bags in the carriages, had sent a telegram to the London housekeeper two weeks in advance to announce Lady Sybil's arrival with the rest of the family so that an extra room could been prepared. This had been one of the less stressful tasks on Carson's list.

"No. This is his Lordship's suitcase, bring it back into his room." Why the young boys had not listened to him when he had explained which piece of luggage should go into which room, was a mystery to him. "The other three are Lady Edith's. They belong in the room next door."

The young man blushed ashamedly and picked up all the suitcases at once, balanced them somehow and carried them across the corridor into the room, Carson had pointed out.

"Mr Carson." He turned around when he heard the voice of Mrs Winter behind him. "Is everything in order up here? I hope your journey was satisfactory?"

He had only greeted her briefly as soon as the cars had arrived. The train had run late, he had lost two hours of precious time he needed for important preparations such as unpacking and storing the empty suitcases. And if he was honest, he wished he could avoid the housekeeper for at least another hour until at least the largest part of his work was done.

"Not quite, Mrs Winter. There had been some delays and we are running a bit late." He stepped out of the bedroom and followed the housekeeper downstairs into the main entrance hall where more luggage was standing around, unsorted. "And as you can see, the footmen we hired are not up to the task."

"That is my fault, Mr Carson. Entirely my fault. I'll take care of this and let the maids carry the lighter bags." Mrs Winter immediately stopped two of her housemaids.

"Thank you Mrs Winter. I appreciate your help." Though it would only take a small weight from his shoulders. "If you'll excuse me now. I must check if the cars have been brought round and are ready to pick up the family from the station."

* * *

At midnight he was finally able to shut the door to the small room he occupied while in London. The bedcovers were already turned down and a fire lit. One of the boys had brought his suitcase up and hung his suits in the small wardrobe, making sure everything was neat and tidy. One more thing he could tick off his list. The rest had to wait until the next day.

Carson was tired and every muscle in his body ached from the many stairs he had climbed up and down again, trying to get some order into the chaotic arrival. Delegating tasks had not been an option. Perhaps in the coming weeks there were a few things he could hand over to the first footman. But as long as the man was not familiar with the house and the requirements of the family there was no use in assigning him to chores Carson could do faster on his own.

He sat down on the bed and loosened his collar and white tie, then removed the coat and his cufflinks. It felt liberating to be out of the restricting garments he had been in for hours. A while later he had stripped down to his undershirt and trousers and put his old robe on. His livery was carefully stored away into the cupboard for the next day. The coat needed to be pressed and the collar was dirty. But this too was a task for the next day.

For now his work was done and he could finally sit down and write his first letter. He had been looking forward to it all day, despite the stress and his busy schedule. Sitting down and recalling the day while writing to her was one of his favourite pastimes during the season. The words on the white paper made him appreciate what he had achieved in the last hours and he was able to sort his thoughts, put aside whatever troubled him. He took out the expensive fountain pen and dipped it into the ink jar on his small desk, a white sheet of paper was ready to absorb the events of this first day.

_Dear Elsie,_

_After a long and tiresome journey we have today arrived in London. As per usual our arrival was delayed by the inability of the hired staff to fulfil their duties in the way they should. Nothing compares to Downton! Most of the day was spent reorganizing schedules and making appointments for his Lordship. I feel relieved now that the day is almost over and I know that I've done as best as I could. The prospect of sitting down and writing this first letter was my motivation. _

_I hope all is well in Yorkshire. I need not remind you of the wine delivery next week as I'm sure you will handle it with expert care, as always during my absence. _

_Please give my greetings to the remaining staff. I am looking forward to your reply._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Charles_

* * *

**2013**

The words still lingered on after she had folded the letter and put it back on the stack. Somehow these simple lines had touched her more than the most highly praised book. There was this man in London writing to a woman in Yorkshire. Both had obviously been servants for Viola's great-great-grandfather. She tried to count the generations backwards and wished she had a pen somewhere in her pocket to draw a family tree. "There is father, grandfather George, great-grandfather Matthew and… yes!" If she wasn't mistaken, the "lordship" mentioned in the letter had indeed been Robert Crawley. Viola was suddenly giddy with excitement. Why had no one ever looked through these suitcases and discovered their hidden secret? How come her family had no interest in the history of their own house? She picked up the next letter that was dated two weeks after the one she had just read.

_Dear Elsie,_

_Thank you for your kind letter and I am glad that you agree with me: the family should allow more staff to stay at Grantham House during the rest of the year. I will discuss this topic with his Lordship as soon as there is time. _

_We will talk no more about the wine delivery. It will have to wait until I return. Please accept my apologies for the unnecessary troubles it caused you. We will change the supplier immediately as I will not tolerate such unsuitable behaviour! The man should have known that you are very much in charge of the house when I am absent; your position equals mine and should never be questioned. _

_As for London, it is very much the same like every year. Young Lady Sybil enjoys her stay and Lady Mary has already mastered her first ball. Her Ladyship was very pleased with her. _

_I am looking forward to your next letter,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Charles_

Viola stared at the words. Mr Carson must have been the butler back in the 1910s. No one else took care of wine deliveries. In conclusion, Mrs Hughes was the housekeeper. Who else should a butler write to if not the person that was his equal amongst the servants? And whoever had kept their correspondence must have valued the letters a lot. Viola wondered if Elsie Hughes had sorted and tied them up so neatly. After all, these letters were her possession. But why would she do so? Viola hoped to find out the truth soon by reading more of them and diving deeper into an era that seemed so long gone by and yet only a hundred years had passed. She had dealt with documents that were more than a thousand years old, had handled books from the first Gutenberg press and yet, these letters touched and impressed her more than the most valuable historical document. She had no personal connection with a letter from one king to another whereas the closely written pages felt alive in her hands. After all, the two secants had worked at Downton Abbey, had known her ancestors. She could even hear the voice of Charles Carson reading the words to her although she had never seen the man.

A thought struck Viola and she dropped the piece of paper she had wanted to read next. There had been some photographs hidden underneath the old books. If this suitcase was not simply a collection of possessions from different servants, accumulated over the years, but kept the belongings of Elsie Hughes, then she would surely find a picture of this Charles Carson somewhere. Viola took the books carefully out of the suitcase and placed them next to the letters. There were five of them, all leather bound and worn, a precious possession and most likely the favourites of the owner. She would take a look at them later. Underneath she found a picture frame that lay on top of a cardboard box that had seen better days with its battered corners and faded imprint. Unfortunately the frame only contained a coloured picture postcard of some large lake surrounded by lush, green hills. Viola's curiosity was now even more stirred. She lifted the lid of the box and it almost fell apart in her hands. Inside she found some newspaper clippings, old postcards and an old cabaret poster along with a delicate but tarnished silver frame. With trembling hands Viola took the frame and held it into the light. It was a black and white photograph with a cardboard boarder typical for early twentieth century photography, and showed a man, standing, his hand resting on the shoulder of a woman who sat in a high-backed chair. Both smiled into the camera and looked around sixty years of age. At the bottom of the photo someone had written something in blue ink that was now grey and almost illegibly. Viola had problems reading the inscription and tilted the frame a bit, tried to catch the light better. "Come on, show yourself!"

She could make out the letters "son" at the end of the second word and a beautifully written capital "E" at the beginning of another one. This was sufficient proof for her and a silly grin spread across her face. "Hello Mr Carson, Hello Mrs Hughes."

She examined the picture further. Their clothing was simple, not elegant with too much attention to detail, but practical and made to wear daily. She wore a dark dress, Viola could not tell whether it was blue or black, but the fit was a looser one with the skirt ending just under her knees. He wore a black morning coat and an old-fashioned collar and tie. When she added all the details she had been able to make out in this single photograph, the picture must have been taken in the early 1920s. At least Mrs Hughes dress looked as if it was from that particular period. Carefully Viola put the picture down, leaned it against the suitcase and had one last look at it. These were the faces of the people she was reading about. This was their story and the words she was about to read next became even more fascinating and in her mind a story began to form.

* * *

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**What remains of the Past**

_A/N Thanks again for your wonderful support regarding this story. This chapter was written on an ipad... there might be tons of typos or weird word choices because I didn't have a dictionary at hand. xxx _

* * *

**CHAPTER 03**

**1911**

Four weeks, one month, a third of the season had passed already and he was grateful that time seemed to run so fast this year. His staff situation had not improved and every day he was faced with another problem he had to tackle, a new crisis he had to master. Mrs Winter tried to help wherever she could but she was not Elsie Hughes. The housekeeper was a capable woman, good at what she was doing, but Carson was missing the unspoken understanding he had with Elsie Hughes. Often there was no need for them to exchange words, a simple glance was sufficient and the other knew what to do. To Mrs Winter he had to explain everything in detail, had to make sure she understood the exact nature of his problem. Of course he should not compare the two women when he had worked with one of them for almost 19 years and considered her a friend and companion and not simply a colleague. But he could not stop his thoughts from wandering back to Downton Abbey and imagining what Elsie Hughes would have done in a particular situation.

They had just started their afternoon tea when the drawing room bell rang, a sign for Carson to put his half emptied cup down and hurry upstairs where either his Lordship or one of the girls waited with a request. Her Ladyship was out for the afternoon, dining with Lady Painswick at her residence, just a few streets further north from Grantham House. When he entered the small drawing room, Lady Mary was waiting for him, a mischievous smile on her face.

"Oh Carson! It's good of you to come so quickly. Edith and I have a plan and you must help us with it."

He straightened his back and tilted his head a bit. "Very well milady. How can I help." He hoped that whatever the young ladies had in mind would not be something his Lordship disapproved of.

"We want to go shopping. And Papa has told us that we could not go this afternoon when there is a big dinner later. Where he wants to introduce me to some of his boring friends from the club." She faked a yawn and Edith suppressed a chuckle.

"Should you not discuss this with your father, milday. I can't see how I can help you with this request." Since she had been a little girl, Lady Mary always tried to undermine her parent's plans. If it did not suit her, she refused to obey. Partly Carson could understand her behaviour. He had once been a stubborn young man, tired of the simple life of a servant that bored him with its daily uniformity. So he had not played by the rules and fled into a life on stage. But his opinion did not matter here and was not asked for. If the young ladies wanted to leave the house for a tour through the city, then he had to organise such a thing.

"Oh come on Carson. We will be back in time for that boring dinner! And at least we would have had some fun beforehand. Don't you agree?" Lady Mary looked at him with that charmingly convincing smile she had perfected even at her young age.

"Very well milady. But we must at least let your mother know about it." He played his last trump.

"I'll do that." Edith suggested. "We can drive past aunt Rosamund's and I'll hand one of the footmen a message."

"Good idea. So Carson, will you come with us to chaperone us?" Again, the young woman tried her smile on him.

"I apologize, milady but I'm afraid tonight's dinner is keeping me very busy throughout the day." For once he had to bend the rules a bit. There was simply no time to accompany the young girls. And Carson was glad he could use the dinner as an excuse.

"Oh no. Can't someone else do it? Mrs Winter?" Again, Edith spoke up.

"I'm afraid not. But I can send one of the maids to accompany you." Best ask O'Brien to do this job although she would resent him for it. But there was no other woman in the house he could trust enough.

"Alright." Lady Mary sounded disappointed but there was still that mischievous sparkle in her eye and Carson hoped she would not do anything _he_ later regretted.

* * *

_Dear Elsie,_

_I thank you for your supportive words. So far there has been no improvement, however Mrs Winter and I have come to an agreement the other day that might solve the problem. As you can possibly imagine, I am glad we have managed to master the first month without any calamities._  
_Today's events are difficult to describe in a simple letter and are better told in person. But I will try to give you a short account._

He put the pen down and thought about his involuntary adventure in the high-street of London. Despite his reluctance he had found the journey rather interesting in the end but had made sure never to show the slightest sign of his approval. A talk with O'Brien was inevitably now too after she had refused to obey to his orders. Still, this was something he could easily handle the next day. The important thing was that both young women had come to no harm and their parents had enjoyed their tales during dinner. Of the butler in the dressmakers shop, holding boxes that contained previously bought hats and being forced to look at what felt like a hundred different dresses and fabrics. Only Lady Sybil did not join the merry talk. She had been forced to come with her mother to Lady Painswick.

_The young ladies were involved in a scheme that involved me accompanying them to the shops in Oxford and Regent Street all afternoon. I must admit that I enjoyed it. But I must be sure that this stays a secret between us._  
_Furthermore, Lady Mary had shown great interest in young Master Patrick during the grand dinner tonight. I know what you think about this liaison but both families only benefit from it._

_Before I close, how is young William doing? I would like your opinion on him as I am planning on hiring him as a second footman._

_Yours sincerely,_  
_Charles_

He folded the letter and put it into an envelope. It would leave London with the morning post. He looked at the address, at her name written in his hand on the cream coloured paper. Only eight more weeks and he would see her again. Carson placed a small box on top of the letter, black with a golden imprint. A present, something he had wanted to give her for years but never found the courage to. Today, on his day out with the young ladies, he had seen the perfect piece in a shop window and bought it unbeknownst to Lady Mary or Edith. Another secret Elsie Hughes would need to keep for him.

* * *

**2013**

Viola burst into loud laughter. Mr Carson sounded and looked so dignified, imagining him going shopping with two young girls was a hilarious thought. She read the paragraph again and stopped at the names. The butler was talking about her great-grandmother but painting a completely different picture of her than the one in Viola's mind. She walked past the portrait of the old lady almost every day. It hung in the part of the house her family lived in. A woman of about fifty, with jet black hair, streaked with strands of silver, a stern expression and cold eyes the most distinct features of her face. She had never thought of Mary Crawley as a young girl eager to go shopping. The other name that sounded so very familiar was Master Patrick. A cousin her great-grandmother was supposed to marry but who died on the Titantic. How strange to read about him in a letter written by a servant. Mr Carson discussed his daily work and the happenings in London as any person would do but his small descriptions about Viola's family made the letter so personal.

Viola sat back, rested her back against one of the large support logs and stared out of the hatch into the cloudy sky above her. She had come up here to find a new suitcase and now she felt as if she had travelled back in time. After having read only a few letters, Mr Carson felt so familiar and real to her and also Mrs Hughes slowly became someone she wanted to meet. But what she had discovered was more than one hundred years old; the protagonists of the letters were long dead. Viola rubbed her temples, tried to think, come up with an idea on how to proceed. She knew she had to find out everything about the butler and housekeeper now. Should she empty the complete suitcase now? Look at the other ones, search for more letters? After all, Mrs Hughes answers must be somewhere.

A piercing noise disturbed the silence and Viola almost jumped up until she noticed that it was her mobile demanding her attention. She had completely forgotten the thing and fumbled it out of her back pocket. A text message. She opened it.

Where the hell are you? It is almost 3 pm! We are supposed to leave for York at 3:15! Hurry up!

Her sister. Polite as usual. Viola let out a sigh. She had completely forgotten about the appointment and she honestly did not care about it at all. But she had promised to accompany her sister to help buy the dress, to smile and nod her head approvingly at everything Claire chose. Viola despised nothing more than going shopping with her older sister and looking for a wedding dress was the worst.

She decided not to hurry but take her time. Claire could wait another thirty minutes until Viola had packed the letters, books and pictures back into the suitcase. Maybe she could carry it downstairs and examine its contents in her room? No, that was a bad idea. Most likely either her sister or her mother would start asking questions what she was doing with the old case or what she needed it for. Besides, the thing was too heavy to be carried down the ladder. So she shut the lid again, shoved it carefully back into its corner and closes the hatch. She would come back later with a bottle of wine, a blanket, some cushions and a lamp.

* * *

**1911**

His letters were the highlight of her week. At least one of them arrived on every Thursday, sometimes even a second one on Monday when she had written a reply immediately and sent it with the next morning's post. She would never admit it in front of him or tell him so in a letter, but she missed him, her companion and friend, the only person in the house she could talk to about everything. He was her confidant. After working closely side by side for almost twenty years, she knew him like no one else. Elsie could not say she could read him like an open book as there were things he hid even from her, but she still remained the only person he confident in and vice versa. During the season the only other person in the household she could spend her evenings with was Mrs Patmore. Elsie enjoyed talking to the cook but she could not deal with the woman every single evening of her week.

Tonight was one of those evening's. Her maids had cleaned the fireplaces extensively during the last four days and so far their work had been very satisfying. They were ahead of Elsie's plan and she had wanted to give them a different task tomorrow. Had there not been that accident. Maude, one of the younger maids, had been a bit overzealous and cleaned the large fireplace in the hall on her own. Inexperience and the wrong tools had then caused a lot of soot to fall down the chimney. The polished wooden floor of the great hall was a mess and the closest carpet needed intensive cleaning now.

Elsie had retreated to her sitting room right after they had finished dinner. The door was closed, she had not switched on the electric light, lighted an old spirit lamp instead. The warm glow from her fireplace warmed the room. She needed to calm down, forget the day's events. On her knees lay his last letter. She had received it this afternoon, immediately after the incident in the hall. It had softened the blow a bit but Maude had nevertheless received a warning from Elsie.  
After waiting for hours to open it she now only stared at his neat handwriting on the envelope. Her name, the address, she had seen all of this so many times but today it seemed strange. As if she would something new in his letter, a confession, a message that he would return the next week. It was nonsense. She was exhausted and needed a good night's rest. That was all there was. Elsie reached for the letter opener on the desk behind her and slid the envelope open.

She began to read and smiled at his first sentence, then frowned at the following. He worried too much and usually she was the one to remind him not to take everything too seriously. The next paragraph immediately dissipated her worries and she almost burst into loud laughter. The poor man! An afternoon in the busy streets of London. What did the girls think? It was unheard of that Mr Carson had ever done such a frivolous thing. But Elsie knew the young ladies and she was familiar with Lady Mary's charm. That girl could make a man do anything and Charles Carson adored her, although he should not.

Elsie finished reading and made a mental note to talk to young William in the morning. The boy would get his promotion. There was nothing that spoke against it. As for the London adventure, Elsie could not wait to grab pen and paper to compose her reply.

* * *

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**What remains of the Past**

_A/N I have no idea if you are all still with me because chapter 3 didn't get a lot of comments. But anyway, I'd really appreciate it if you'd let me know if this story is still interesting although you'll have to read a lot about Viola :D but I promise to make longer Carson/Hughes passages soon. _

* * *

**CHAPTER 04**

**2013**

Viola stood in front of the mirror and put on different veils while her sister had disappeared into the fitting rooms with one of the shop staff to try on a 'dream of a dress'. Viola found the dress hideous, too much lace, too voluminous, too white. She sipped her champagne then checked her watch. 4:30pm. Only thirty minutes had passed since their arrival.

She wondered how long she would be stuck here, away from the suitcase and the letters. What she desperately needed was a good excuse to go back to Downton Abbey. A call from her editor asking for last minute changes on one of her articles, or a sudden crisis at the office. Both things were as unlikely to happen as an earthquake in the middle of Yorkshire. She emptied her glass and took the veil out of her hair. Another glimpse at her watch told her that only two minutes had passed since she had last checked it. What was taking Claire so long in there? And why couldn't she take one of her best friends with her?

"Are you ready?" Her sister's voice emerged from behind one of the curtains of the fitting rooms. "Close your eyes, little sister."

"I am ready but I won't close my eyes. Just come out there." Viola put on a fake smile and waited impatiently for Claire to step forward, wearing that ugly dress.

"Spoilsport. This is meant to be fun!" Slowly the lady who worked in the store withdrew the curtain and Claire stepped into the showroom. The dress was still too white, too big and did not suit her.

Viola kept the smile on her face. "Well. That's a nice white dress."

"So you like it?" Claire turned around in a circle and the long train wound around her feet.

Should she be truthful and be trapped here for another hour or two, or tell a lie and congratulate her sister on her sense of style. Then she might be on her way back to Downton in a few minutes and could continue reading the letters. Viola opted for a combination of both.

"Not really. The cut is okay but the rest? There is too much lace? And too much of everything. Claire, why did you ask me to come?" Maybe this would help to get her out of this.

"Why didn't you tell me you dislike helping me choose the dress so much?" She crossed her arms and Viola knew what the piercing look on her sister's face meant. _I've done so much for you can't you do one thing for me? _She was tired of it. Just because Claire was her older sister did not mean she had to feel responsible for everything. Viola was living her own life, made her own decisions and did not require the patronage of her older sister or her parents.

"Because…", she started. "I don't know. I didn't really think when you asked. I am not good at such things, Claire. And you will not listen to any advice given to you anyway. So why take someone with you in the first place?"

"Go. Just go Viola. I'll text Laura or Julia. My friends will help me with this. They will _enjoy _choosing a wedding dress. And don't you dare ask me for a favour in the months to come." With that she turned around and vanished into the fitting rooms, leaving Viola alone in the showroom. She only shrugged her shoulders. Claire had always been like this. Her threats did not mean a lot. Viola was not even hurt by her words. All she could think of was that she now had the rest of the afternoon free to discover more of the letters between Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes.

* * *

Before Viola made her way back upstairs, she tried to conceal that she had taken the attic key out of the old bureau. Everything looked exactly the way she had left it hours ago. Her mother had not been in the room yet, no maid had been sent in to clean the mess. She heaved a sigh of relief. Not that her family would interrogate her why she had looked for the key when she could simply ask for it. No, what Viola was more worried about was her mother's reaction if she had seen the room in such a state. Marjorie hated disorder, chaos, things out of place. And although Viola was no longer a child, she felt small and helpless when her mother was in a bad mood over something Viola was responsible for but which was not necessarily something bad or despicable such as not being a tidy person. As fast she could, Viola sorted the many tiny bits and pieces, stacked everything on the right and left of the small desk, put the photographs back into the drawers and hoped that no one would notice things out of place. It took her not more than fifteen minutes.

Afterwards she quickly packed one of her large tote bags with the necessary equipment. A torch, a small netbook, pen, notepad, a bottle of wine, some snacks. With a blanket and a cushion under her arm she quietly made her way back upstairs to the attic. No one crossed her path this time and the darkness in the corridor and the small passage was no longer threatening. In fact, it felt like returning to a secret place no one else knew about. A place in the house Viola would never be disturbed or found. It was her very own refuge.

The old key opened the door once again. Viola switched on her torch and headed straight for the ladder. Nothing else was interesting to her anymore. With the tote on her back she climbed up onto the platform, then went down again to get the blanket and cushion. She felt a bit like a child building a pillow fort in her room that had a "do not enter" sign at the door. Viola chuckled at that absurd thought and unfolded the blanket. It only took her a few minutes to create a small, comfortable, attic office, including a little table made from empty suitcases. Finally she could continue her journey back in time.

Mrs Hughes's suitcase was where Viola had left it. She carried it carefully to the left side of her blanket and opened it, looking at the contents once again without taking anything out. She needed to get an overview of what she had got. Letters, books, the picture frames, the old cardboard box. Viola counted the stacks of letters. If each of them comprised one year of correspondence and 1911 was the first one of the collection, Viola had found the years 1911 to 1924. Again there was this feeling of sheer excitement deep inside in her stomach. Like Christmas when you still believed in Santa Clause and his reindeers.

Slowly she unpacked the suitcase. Letters to the left, the books in the middle, followed by the box and the picture frames. The portrait of the couple she placed on top of her small, improvised table so that they overlooked the blanket, the frame that showed the landscape she put on top of the cardboard box. A third picture Viola had not studied before, depicted a group of people all dressed in dark colours with Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes standing in the middle. The background looked familiar and Viola risked opening the old frame. She took the old photograph out and held it closer to the light. A beautiful house stood in the background, high walls, richly ornamented: Downton Abbey. Viola flipped the picture over and there they were: Names, written in pencil, in the distinct handwriting of a woman. The words leaned slightly to the right, capital letters at the beginning of each name were accentuated with tiny flourishes. Mrs Hughes had taken great care in listing up the people shown on the photograph. There were of course Mr Carson and she in the middle, to his left Viola was introduced to Thomas Barrow, 1st footman. Followed by William Mason, 2nd footman. At Mrs Hughes right stood Sarah O'Brien, lady's maid to Lady Grantham, Anna Smith, head housemaid. Next to her a taller man named John Bates, valet to Lord Grantham. The other people were simple housemaids, third and fourth footmen, bellboys, stable boys, kitchen staff.

This picture too, was placed on the small suitcase table. "Thank you Mrs Hughes", Viola whispered into the darkness of the attic. Perhaps her ghost would hear it. She grinned and continued to sort the contents of the suitcase then picked up the next letter from the 1911 stack.

_Dear Charles,_

Viola stopped reading. The handwriting was the same like the one on the picture. How did a letter that had been send to Charles Carson made it into the possession of the original sender? She put it aside and looked through the ones that followed June 6th. They were all from Charles Carson to Elsie Hughes. But if there was one reply from the woman she had so far only read about there must be more somewhere.

Viola decided to continue her research later and got to her feet, torch in hand. A few more old pieces of luggage were stacked in the corners all around her. She lifted them, to find out if something was stored inside and put the heavy ones aside, then began to pick the locks. One after another opened, revealed old clothes, linen, some boots. Another one contained books. Out of curiosity Viola had a look at the titles and also searched the insides for names and signatures but could find nothing that revealed more about the lives of the butler and the housekeeper. When there were only two cases left and around ten lying around with open lids, Viola was ready to give up for tonight.

"Who are you Elsie Hughes. Why can't I find your letters?" Maybe the belongings of Charles Carson were not stored on the attic. Why should they? It was only a lucky coincidence that Viola had found the first suitcase and that its locks had not been rusty. She did not want to think of the reason why the housekeeper's things had not been thrown away and instead been forgotten in the attics of her old employer. Mrs Hughes might have died while still working for the Crawley's. As far as Viola knew housekeepers never married and therefore had no family living nearby. So at the end of her life, the things Elsie Hughes had kept dear all this time, had been packed into a suitcase and stored away, being the only reminder that this woman had ever existed. Whereas Mr Carson might have left Downton Abbey to live in a nearby cottage and his personal belongings had travelled with him, out of the house, never to be seen again. Nevertheless, Viola let the brass locks of the brown suitcase click open not really expecting to find anything of importance inside. How mistaken she was. She almost let out a small cry of delight. There it was, her missing link. Charles Carson's belongings. Slowly and with caution she unpacked also this suitcase. The past of Downton's butler resurfaced. Letters, a lot of them. Also neatly stacked and probably sorted just as meticulously as Mrs Hughes's were. Some more books: Frankenstein, Jane Eyre, Dracula. But, and that surprised Viola, also some items more suitable for a woman to keep. A small white porcelain cat and a silvered hairbrush. Wrapped in a piece of linen, Viola discovered more beautiful trinkets and a small black velvet box.

* * *

**1911**

_Dear Charles,_

_It was a lovely treat to read about your adventures in the streets of London. I never thought you would enjoy such a thing. I hope the young ladies treated you kindly and you did not spend the entirety of your wages. _

_As for William, I will talk to him come morning. He has been a great help during the past four weeks. His family would be very grateful if he would become a footman. The lad is eager, has good manners and a quick wit. You could not choose a better man for the position. _

_The days at Downton are slow though busy. I am taking great care that the house is ready for your return – as always. The other day I started planning the annual garden party. A nice change to my daily routine. Her Ladyship has set the date for early August. There is plenty of time left for us to discuss the topic. _

_I am looking forward to your next letter,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Elsie_

He smiled at her words and the ones he thought were hidden between the lines. Elsie Hughes was bored although an estate such as Downton Abbey had plenty of work to offer on every single day. Carson knew that the housekeeper enjoyed the quietness of the summer months when the family was away in London leaving the house behind almost empty. There were no dinners to plan or house parties to organise. The maids could sleep longer in the mornings and enjoy time off during the day. All in all a rather relaxing life compared to the busy London season. And still he thought he detected a longing for their usual hectic life in her words. Perhaps she also missed his company? Carson could not tell and reread her letter in the hope to find a hint he had overlooked previously. But there was nothing in it he had not seen before. Oh he wished he could abandon the season, stay with her at Downton and enjoy a break from his daily work. But he had chosen this life, the position of butler and all the duties that came with it. There was no use to ponder over what-ifs. He put her letter into the small drawer of his desk where it joined her previous ones and the small black box with the purchase he had made in town the other day. He had not spent all of his wages on it but a bit of his savings. But it was worth every penny.

* * *

He awoke after a horrid nightmare. It was still dark outside and the nearby church chimed four in the morning. Carson sat up in his small bed and took a few deep breaths to calm down. The dream that had robbed him of his much needed sleep had been so vivid, felt so real. He had been back at Downton and the house had been on fire. Although they had tried everything to rescue the people and their belongings, in the end all that was left was a heap of ash. Lady Mary had survived, he was still alive, somewhere in the distance he heard Isis, Lord Grantham's dog, barking. But everyone else was lost, dead. His home had been destroyed, the people he cared about were gone. Carson took another deep breath and closed his eyes for a second. But the images came flashing back. It was impossible for him to go back to sleep now.

He got out of his bed and put on his robe and slippers then sat down at the desk. Her letters would distract him and hopefully let him forget about the dream. He had so far received four of them and each one he had read a few times already, mostly at night as a treat after another eventful and busy day. Carson cherished her writing, loved the casual tone of her letters, and the fact that she never took anything too seriously. The first three letters he read within a few minutes but on the last one, the one he had received only today, he lingered yet again. She never thought he would enjoy the big town, the busy streets and being blatantly used by his employer's daughters as a male chaperone. How little Elsie Hughes knew about him despite their long friendship. How little had he told her about his past before he returned to Downton and how often had he wanted to be honest with her. Because he knew that his secret was save with her. Carson was certain she would understand and not make fun of him. And in the early morning hours of a Wednesday in June, he decided to write the first letter that was not about his work but contained some information about his past, private things he had not told a soul in thirty years.

_Dear Elsie,_

_This letter might be a bit unusual; different from all the other ones we have so far exchanged throughout the many years we've known each other. I made a difficult decision this night but I know it is the right one. There are some things you deserve to know about me and my past. I trust you with this secret because I know it is save in your hands. _

_When I was still a young man I decided to give up my secure position as a footman and sought after a different, more exciting life. I chose the theatre and travelled all across England and Scotland, have seen all the big cities and was friends with travelling people from all over the world. A busy afternoon in London therefore is a thing I was once familiar with. I will speak no more about my past now. If you wish we can talk about it on my return. I hope these words have not shocked you._

_Yours sincerely_

_Charles_

If he would die the next day, at least someone knew about the man he was once. With shaking hands he folded the letter and sealed the envelope. There was no way back now. She would respect his privacy but he would not waste another sheet of paper for a more detailed explanation while being in London.

* * *

TBC

Hope you still like it! Please let me know via a long/short review.


	5. Chapter 5

**What remains of the past**

_A/N I thank you all for the wonderful support! I listened to your suggestions and included more Carson/Hughes in this chapter and in the next!  
_

* * *

**CHAPTER 05**

**2013**

Viola placed the two letters next to each other to go through them again more carefully. There was no doubt. During her first read she had thought that there was a message hidden between the lines, something so subtle that it could easily be overlooked by whoever simply read the letters without being aware of their background. This man, Charles Carson, had told a secret that he had obviously hidden for years. Viola's finger traced the sentences once more. Elsie Hughes deserved to know about it, he trusted her with a secret, he would no longer speak about it, offered her to explain more on his return. If Viola had a secret to tell she would go to her best friend and make her swear to keep her mouth shut, to never tell a soul about it. But she had been friends with Maria for years, since they were children sharing their sweets on the way home from school. How much had it cost Mr Carson to reveal so much about him to a person he worked with? Elsie Hughes must have meant more to him. Viola was now sure of it.

She put the letters back into their stacks and her hand brushed along the cardboard box. Of course, the playbill! Excitedly she opened the box and almost tore apart an old newspaper clipping in her hurry to find the poster. Once she found it she went through the names again. _The Lark and the Dove, The Tall Sally, The Bearded Woman. _It read like a freak show. _The Cheerful Charlies. _That must be it. His name was Charles Carson and there was no other Charles mentioned on the poster. A butler who had once been on the stage, the most important member of staff as part of a double act. Viola could not hold back her laughter. No wonder he had kept it secret. But it was not fair of her to laugh about it when nowadays managers of the most important companies went to seminars that taught them how to laugh and made them wear a clown's costume. Things could be taken too seriously and too much effort was spent on avoiding mistakes and being the perfect employee, losing sight of the real world. Of course she could not compare 2013 to 1911 but some things never really changed.

Viola let her eyes wander across her little treasure, the letters and books, pictures and trinkets. The life of these people was spread out in front of her and she felt it was her duty to now put the pieces back together and bring them back to life. She grabbed her pen and notepad and made a list of the things she had found out so far.

_Butler – Mr Charles Carson_

_Housekeeper – Mrs Elsie Hughes (unmarried)_

_Time – late 19__th__century to mid 1920__th_

_Two suitcases_

_Hers: letters, books, framed photographs, a cardboard box with bits from newspapers, postcards, a playbill_

_His: letters, books, photographs, hairbrush, porcelain figurines, a little black box, wrapped in a piece of linen cloth…_

She put the pen away and the notepad slid from her lap. It can't be! The box belonged to Charles Carson and the hairbrush and trinkets to Elsie Hughes! Someone had put everything these two people owned into two suitcases but while doing so made a complete mess of things. What Viola had discovered was not a random collection of belongings, not a carefully packed bag at the end of Elsie Hughes or Charles Carson's life, things they had left behind in their respective rooms or houses. This was, and excitement settled in the pit of her stomach once again, the story of a couple that had shared a home on the grounds somewhere. A cottage perhaps or rooms here in the house. If this was the case then she knew she could not leave the attics anytime soon. She had to find out as much as possible about these two servants, their lives, their shared history and their possible love story. Viola tried to calm down a bit and opened her wine bottle with shaking hands, spilling some of the dark red liquid onto the blanket. She poured herself a glass and took a large gulp, enjoying the taste it left behind in her mouth. After a second sip, she left the glass standing on the ground next to her small table and set to work. First she would read more of the letters, plod through the many years of correspondence between butler and housekeeper. Hopefully she had gathered enough information by then to draw an outline of their relationship.

* * *

**1911**

"For heaven's sake! See that it is done by tonight." She slammed the door shut behind her, leaving Madge standing in the Blue Room with her mouth agape, staring at the closed door that still vibrated on its hinges.

It was not her first outburst of the day. All through their morning routine, that included thoroughly cleaning the guest bedrooms, Elsie had been livid. A corner not dusted and properly cleaned, a carpet not brushed the right way. The tiniest mistakes annoyed her and had her on edge. She was not even sure why she was so irritated. Elsie had a good night's rest. Yesterday had ended with a successful repair of the large fireplace in the hall and her girls had also managed to clean the soiled carpet. Nothing had happened that could explain her behaviour and that was perhaps the most annoying thing: to have no clue why the day was against you.

Angrily she headed downstairs to remind Mrs Patmore of the dry goods delivery that had been delayed for two days. God knows why. The housemaids she met on her way down stopped dead in their tracks when she passed them. It was good that they had so much respect but they should never be afraid of her. Elsie let out a long sigh as soon as she had reached the bottom of the stairs. She should take a long walk after her discussion with Mrs Patmore because there was a definite need to unwind a bit.

"Mrs Patmore?" She called out into the busy kitchen. Kitchen maids scurried out of the way, not daring to look at the housekeeper, all of them pretending to be very busy with their respective chores. "Can I have a word please?"

The cook came out of the store cupboard, two cauliflowers in her hands. "How can I help you Mrs Hughes?" One of her maids quickly was at the cook's side to take the vegetables. "Is it about the delivery today? Because if you came to remind me of that, I'm afraid you're too late. The boy has already come round." She wiped her hands on her apron.

Elsie closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath. "And you didn't think of informing me about that earlier? While the supplier was still in the house?"

"No. Why should I? We had discussed it earlier and you told me there were no additional goods we needed."

Once more she took a deep breath and exhaled very slowly. "He left an invoice I suppose?"

Mrs Patmore went over to the small table she used as a desk in the busy kitchen. It was covered with recipe books, lists, and as always completely chaotic. Elsie wondered how this woman ever got her work done. "Here it is. See for yourself. I checked the delivery. Everything was in order."

"No. It isn't." The delivery had been late, too late. A house such as Downton required a regular restock of goods of various kinds. Not only food. All their regular suppliers were aware of the contracts Elsie had made with them: they had to delivery on time and without any delays. She had to rely on them even during the season when the family was not present and a missing pound of sugar or lack of black shoe polish did not cause a major crisis. "He forgot to add the discount. You know that he is required to. That's why I wanted to be present." Elsie hissed.

"Oh." Mrs Patmore's confident smile vanished. "I forgot." At least the cook did not start an unnecessary argument in front of the other staff.

"The next time he comes around I want the discount added on the new invoice. Send someone to fetch me." Elsie shot one last angry glare at Mrs Patmore and left the kitchen to find some peace and quiet in her sitting room. She almost slammed the door again but could stop herself at the last moment. For a few seconds she simply stood in the middle of her room, eyes closed, breathing deeply in and out. From outside the voices and noises of the household penetrated the silence she had hoped to find in here. Normally this did not bother her but today was different. Time to take a break and have that stroll outside. She opened her eyes and walked over to her desk to get the book she was reading at the moment. His last letter was lying next to it. Elsie hesitated. He had not answered yet. There had been no new letter in the post today. Was that the reason why she was so prickly today?

* * *

Outside, a fresh wind blew and cleared her head a bit while she walked on across the backyard towards the old orchard, the book in hand. She had draped a simple shawl across her shoulders but found it was too warm for it. June spoiled them with an early glimpse of summer. The air was thick with the smell of wildflowers and cherry blossoms the closer she came to the place that was her refuge on busy summer days. Elsie inhaled deeply. This was exactly what she needed right now.

"Mrs Hughes!" A voice called out behind her. Jonathan, one of the young gardeners came running after her, waving something. "The afternoon post arrived!"

Elsie stopped immediately. There was a letter from him. What else could it be? Invoices, Orders, newspapers, they all were simply put on her desk. But she had instructed the staff to inform her about personal mail right away and to have it brought to her straightaway.

The boy panted, so out of breath was he from running the short way from the backdoor towards her. "It's from Mr Carson I think." He handed her the envelope and Elsie thanked him before she sent him away, back to his work.

The sender was indeed Mr Carson. She put the letter inside her book and continued her walk until she reached the orchard and the small bench underneath the old apple tree. Only then did she open the envelope and read his letter, relieved that he had replied after all. With every word, her tenseness eased a bit more and after she had read it twice, Elsie felt nothing could bother her anymore today. He had finally been honest with her and realized that he could trust her unconditionally. The letter did not reveal much about his past but Elsie was grateful that he had found the courage to tell her about it.

* * *

**1911**

The stack of letters on his desk grew with each passing week. Three more weeks he had too stay in London, 21 days remained of the 1911 season. It was the beginning of July and he had been preparing a large ball for the next day together with Mrs Winter. They had discussed the menu one last time, rearranged the seating order once more and at 11pm decided that is was all they could do. Tired and with an aching back, he had climbed the stairs to his bedroom. Her latest letter was hidden in the pocket of his tailcoat, waiting to be read.

He was relieved to change his livery for his pyjamas and the old robe, to relax his aching back and lie down on his bed, the pillow propped behind his head. By the light of an old oil lamp he read her reply with a smile on his face.

_Dear Charles, _

_Summer has finally arrived in Yorkshire. Gone are the dark and rainy winter and spring days. Replaced by fresh, warm air so full of life that we spend many an afternoon outdoors airing the carpets and duvets out in the yard. I hope that London is still enjoyable for you. I hate for you to miss these wonderful early days of summer._

_The house is in good shape and awaiting your return. We tackled a few things that usually get forgotten about and I am very proud of some of the younger maids. They have done well this year. Did you have a chance to talk to his Lordship about William? He is eagerly waiting for your return and practises laying a table properly almost every day. Of course I have him supervised. _

_Anna has taken over the post of head housemaid. Her Ladyship won't mind. The position was vacant for too long and she has been doing the work without being properly promoted for a while now. _

_I have also taken on a new housemaid to replace Beth. You'll see her on your return. She is a clever young girl named Gwen. _

_This has been rather a long letter for me. I will close now and I await your reply soon._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Elsie_

She hated the winter months with the short days and never-ending nights. Often she complained about the cold and draughty room she occupied in the servants quarters directly next to his, separated only by the door dividing the men from the women's bedrooms. It was especially uncomfortable in winter. Not only in her room. Unlike Grantham House in London, where they had a central heating system installed in most parts of the house, Downton lacked such a modern contraption, and he often had to rekindle the fire in the middle of the night. So summer was a blessing for all of them and he enjoyed reading her description of his home, because that's what Downton was for him, where the air now smelled wonderful of fresh flowers and fruits. London on the other hand was covered in smog, stifling and full of foul smells. Grantham House was situated in the most elegant and expensive part of the city but that did not stop the bad smells from wafting through the air. Only at nighttime was it possible to open a window.

Carson got up and did just that, looked over the many dark rooftops of the city, the glittering lights of a metropolis. He did not inhale the air deeply like we would have done back at Downton. But the smell was tolerable at night. He could not wait to return and fill his lungs with the fresh country air and the familiar smell of the house. Old wood, silver polish, dust and that particular odour he connected with Downton Abbey: lavender. He closed his eyes for a moment and thought about the gardens at Downton, so full of flowers at this time of the year. He seldom had a reason to go there. Flowers were her ladyship's and Mrs Hughes's domain. But even a butler had some hours, if only a few, of leisure time each week and especially in summer he used these to take long walks or to read a bit outside on one of the benches. When the Dowager Countess was still in charge of the estate, she had instructed the gardeners to plant lavender. She had always enjoyed the smell of it and did not want to rely on a delivery of dried flowers from Ripon every other week. All throughout the summer, the distinctive smell now dominated the gardens at Downton. And it was always present in the house too.

He closed the window. Enough time spent thinking about the past and places he could not be at the moment. There was no reason to get sentimental. Tomorrow would be a busy day and he needed to rest.

* * *

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N And we will have a closer look at our favourite couple in this chapter. It is short but I will update tomorrow too :). Enjoy reading! And if there is anything you want to happen in this fic, please let me know. The reason why it is so "slow" - It is my National Novel Writing Month entry and I need to have 50.000 words :)_

* * *

**CHAPTER 06**

**2013**

The tone of the letters had changed the longer Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes were without the other. At the beginning of the season, their writing was rather formal with only a hint of their personal opinions and feelings. But now Viola had almost reached the end of the 1911 season. And suddenly the writing changed. Mr Carson, always so reserved and careful about his choice of words, started to long for his return to Downton Abbey and he let Mrs Hughes know about it. She, on the other hand, had always been more open in her letters. Viola studied one that contained almost no information about the house or her work. The main focus was also put on his return. She was even more curious now what would await her in the letter exchanged after 1911 and could not wait to read those. Perhaps she should skip the years in between and start with the ones from 1924? Viola took a sip of her wine. No, that was not a good idea. She might miss something important and when you watched a movie on telly or a TV series you could also not simply fast-forward to the bits you loved best.

* * *

**1911**

_Dear Elsie,_

_We have almost finished packing by now and will be on the early train the coming Monday. The scheduled arrival is 2:15pm. I am looking forward to leave London and be back at Downton. It has been a most tiring season this year. I do not often complain about my work and you will be the only one to hear this but I believe I am getting to old for this. The remains of the summer I will spend gladly without elaborate dinners although I know I have no control over this part of our work. _

_I hope the summer has treated you well so far and please excuse my sentimentality. _

_Yours sincerely,_

_Charles_

He was close to add '_I am looking forward seeing you again' _at the end but decided it would be too personal and also telling. Whatever it was that had changed between them in the past year, he should not give in to it. Although it was the truth. He had missed her more than he usually did throughout the three months he had spent in London. Perhaps it was the use of her first name and singing his letters with his given name that had evoked too many feelings. They had decided to give it a try after almost twenty years of working together. Carson had felt uneasy about it. After all, she had worked hard for her title even though people who did not know her and were not aware of her occupation, _Mrs _only implied that she was a married woman. Not housekeeper at one of the largest estates in Yorkshire. But she had insisted, told him that as long as it was only him who called her by her first name, she would enjoy it and not be affronted by it.

Carson still had not called her _Elsie_ outside their letters, had avoided using her name in the evenings they spent together over a glass of sherry or wine prior to his departure. And perhaps he should continue doing so and explain to her that he felt it was not right.

He stared at the letter in his hand. Should he really send it?

"Next please!" The gentleman who had stood in front of him at the post office had already left, leaving Carson next in line. There was no way back now. He handed in the letter, paid for the postage and left the post office.

* * *

_Dear Charles,_

_I hope this letter reaches you in time. I would hate it to be lost in the mail on its way to London. We have arranged everything for your return and I am looking forward for the house to come back to life again. I have made sure your pantry has been cleaned from top to bottom. As for your wish: I am afraid the annual garden party will cause the usual stress. Nevertheless, for the following two weeks nothing out of the ordinary is planned as far as I am aware. And let me assure you, you are not too old for all of this, if I may be so bold and disagree with you. _

_Summer has been wonderful so far. Your return is much anticipated._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Elsie_

His last letter had been different, although in a nice way but still a bit unexpected. Never before had he mentioned that he was tired of his job. Elsie was unfamiliar with this side of Charles Carson. He enjoyed his work, lived for it and she had never heard him doubt any of it. He was the one the male staff looked up to as an inspiring example. His discipline, hard work and strict rules had made Downton a successfully run household that outshone all the other places Elsie had worked at during her long career in service.

Charles Carson was not a sentimental man. He sometimes got lost in memories of the _good old days _but he had never appeared to be tired of his job. Of course they were not getting any younger, she was close to celebrate her 50th birthday in a few weeks, and he was five years her senior. All she could think of while hastily composing her reply, was to comfort him with words as best as she could,

Now she stood at the backdoor, waiting for him to return and with it the hustle and bustle she had missed the last three months. Mrs Patmore had already prepared a welcome supper, lamb stew and a chocolate pudding along with a few chocolate biscuits she especially baked for Mr Carson. Elsie nervously wrung her hands and bit down on her bottom lip. She could already hear the footsteps in the distance, the lively chatter between the young footman Thomas and the lady's maid Miss O'Brien who was the one that opened the door.

"Oh Mrs Hughes." It was probably meant as a greeting. O'Brien was always a bit cold and distanced, not necessarily a person Elsie had lengthy conversations with. She was good at her job and Lady Grantham adored her. That was the main reason they had kept her on.

"Welcome back Miss O'Brien, Thomas." The young footman entered the house directly behind the lady's maid, a grin on his face. A waft of cigarette smoke followed him inside and Elsie wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I hope you had a nice journey."

"Hello Mrs Hughes." At least he was able to greet her properly. "Thank you, it was a nice train ride from London. And the train was early too."

"Thank you Thomas." The servants always returned home one train earlier than the family, sometimes Mr Carson even took a train the day before the actual arrival of Lord and Lady Grantham. It gave them time to unpack the many bags and sort things. After three months in London a lot of laundry had accumulated and newly purchased dresses, shoes and hats needed to be pressed, cleaned and stored away.

Mr Watson, the valet was next to enter the house. He only lifted his hat and walked past Elsie without feeling the need to greet her properly. They definitely needed to find a replacement for this man soon. He was worse than O'Brien. And his Lordship had often complained about the man's lack of good manners. After the garden party, Elsie would urge Mr Carson to place an advertisement in the newspapers.

At last, Mr Carson entered the house and greeted her with one of his rare smiles. He looked tired and a bit worn out. After a few days of rest in his own bed he would most definitely feel better and no longer think himself too old for the London season.

"It is nice to see you Mrs Hughes." He took off his bowler and hung it on the hook by the door. His hair was all ruffled and he did not look at all like the stern, dignified butler she had said good-bye to three months ago.

"It is good to have you back Mr Carson." She wanted to embrace him and place a kiss on his cheek but that was a childish thought and Elsie dismissed it instantly. She should know better than allowing her emotions to take over. Instead she gently squeezed his arm and led the way into his pantry where she had prepared a small homecoming surprise for him.

* * *

It felt marvellous to be back home. Everything was exactly the way he had expected it to be. The air smelled fresh and flowery. When the coach stopped in front of the backyard a whiff of lavender greeted him. Carson already felt more relaxed by just arriving at Downton. Three months of living in a busy city such as London had taken its toll. He longed for his own bed, his own room and his familiar routine.

Miss O'Brien, Thomas and Mr Watson walked ahead, entered the house through the backdoor first. He wanted to be the last so that he could linger a bit on the doorstep and take in all the familiar sound and sights. She was already waiting for him with that wonderful smile of hers on her lips. "It is nice to see you Mrs Hughes." He greeted her and when she answered and he heard her voice again after so many weeks, his smile got even wider.

It was silly really, to show his emotions so openly in front of everyone to see. But he could not help himself. Obediently he follower her down the corridor into his pantry, passing the kitchen that smelled of chocolate cookies and a delicious stew. When Mrs Hughes opened the door, a bright bouquet of flowers from the gardens greeted him, including a few stems of lavender.

"Welcome back, Mr Carson." She stood in front of his desk, still smiling. "I hope you had a nice journey."

This was the best return he had ever had to Downton.

* * *

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**What remains of the Past**

_A/N Sorry... I promised to update yesterday but I had to fix a few things in this chapter. So after the disappointing series finale, I hope I can mend your broken hearts with this chapter. Please let me know what you think.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 07**

**2013**

Viola was lying on her back, a cushion under her head, and looked at one of the pictures from Charles Carson's suitcase. She had not paid attention while unpacking it and had missed this particular gem. In her hands she held a beautiful portrait of Elsie Hughes, dated from 1922, in a wonderful silver frame. A small smile played around her mouth and her hair was styled in the fashion of the early 1920s. She looked younger than on the 1912 picture Viola had studied earlier. A small pressed flower was visible in the upper right corner. Viola sat up and took her torch to examine it in the light. It looked like a small rose. The colour had of course faded but it had been red at one point. How romantic to find such a thing hidden in a butler's suitcase. She always believed that servants were not allowed to have relationships or get married but these two obviously did not care about the rules although they were practically the ones that set them and made the rest of the staff abide by them. It was time to do some research in the all-knowing WWW. Viola rubbed her hands together in anticipation and booted her netbook. The brightness of the screen hurt in her eyes and for a split second she regretted her decision to bring this electronic device with her to this place that was all about the past. It was so nice to just sit here and read, listening to the sounds the house made, the wind outside, the occasional creaking of the old wood. She had been lost in a completely different world until now. But she needed to have some more background information before she could continue reading.

She opened a search engine and typed in _servants relationships 1910s. _Within seconds a hundred results appeared on her screen, from Wikipedia to unreliable forum entries on some strange websites. She needed information that was reliable and trustworthy so she scrolled through the results until she found something that looked scientific enough.

_Any maid found fraternising with a member of the opposite sex will be dismissed without a hearing._

and

_It is customary for your Lady's Maid to be given the title of "Miss ~", regardless of whether she is single or married. It is however acceptable for the Mistress to address her by her Christian name._

She found no particular rule that forbade a marriage between the two heads of the household. The excerpts from books and leaflets only spoke of housemaids and lower servants. Lady's Maids could marry and one married butler and housekeeper couple had published a book about "The Complete Servant" already in 1825. So it was not impossible for Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes to be married. Viola entered the title of the book in a new search and found a free to read copy online. Quickly she scanned the pages, searched for the terms _marriage _(found only one result) and _housekeeper _as well as _butler._ No rules were mentioned here too. Satisfied by the results the WWW had provided, she shut down the small computer and had another sip from her wineglass.

"I will uncover your secret. I promise." She spoke to the letters in front of her before she started with the stack from 1912. Another year that hopefully would give her even more information and reveal new secrets about these two people. To her surprise, the first envelope she opened did not contain a letter but a birthday card from September 1911.

* * *

**1911**

It was not her most favourite day of the year. Not any more. When she was still a child, Elsie had looked forward to her birthday with such anticipation that she stayed awake all night so that she would not miss a single minute of her special day. Although her family was not rich, they always took great care of the children's birthdays and gave her a present each year. Sometimes it was only a piece of her favourite candy. When the harvest had been good and her father had been able to sell his crops for a good price, the present was a book or some fabric for a dress.

She let her fingers brush over her copy of _Jane Eyre _on her nightstand,the first book she had ever owned. By now it was much-thumbed and the spine almost came apart but she could not part with it. Elsie would always cherish this present until her last day on this earth. Today though, she did not expect anyone to remember her birthday. The fiftieth, half a century old. Perhaps that was the main reason why she was unwilling to get up and start the day. When you are young, getting older is an adventure. As soon as you had passed a certain age there was nothing to look forward to anymore. Ivy's knocking on her door disturbed her train of thoughts and she knew she could no longer hide in her room. It was time to face the day.

* * *

The servant's hall was the same like every morning, busy kitchen maids running in and out with the food prepared for their breakfast, and one by one Elsie's housemaids came rushing in to take their seats. Carson was the last one to arrive and they all pushed their chairs back and stood up to greet him.

"Good morning." He made them sit down with a short wave of his hand. "As you all know, we host the Duke of Devonshire tomorrow evening. So there is no time to linger today." Every head answered with a short nod. "Good. Enjoy your breakfast."

It was their signal to pass around the bowl of porridge and the pot of hot tea. Elsie declined and instead took a piece of toast. She could feel Mr Carson's eyes on her. "Good morning. I hope you had a restful night?"

She looked up from her plate where she had started to butter the warm piece of bread. "Thank you, I had. There is a lot to do today." Anna passed her the marmalade.

"There is. But the maids are up to the task, I hope?" They usually did not converse during breakfast and Elsie was not sure why he was so talkative today.

"They are, Mr Carson. We have already prepared all the guest bedrooms yesterday. There are only some minor tasks we will have to take care of today." Her eyes met his and for a few seconds they simply looked at each other, longer than they should have. But there was something in his gaze that caught her attention. She could not define what it was and the longer her eyes searched for an answer, the more she got lost in the moment. The lively chatter around her sounded hollow and faint and only when Daisy asked if she should refill her cup with fresh tea, did Elsie realize how long she had been staring into Charles Carson's eyes.

"Yes, thank you Daisy." Hopefully no one else at the table had noticed her absentmindedness. Elsie risked a look around, studied their faces, especially O'Brien's but they were all engrossed in conversation or eating. When the first bells rang, Ladies Mary and Sybil, Anna rushed out of her chair and another young maid followed her. O'Brien followed suite along with Mr Watson. It did not take long and she was alone with Mr Carson.

"This rarely happens, I'd say." He remarked amused, pushing his chair back to leave the servant's hall. "But it still leaves us no time to linger."

"I am afraid it doesn't." She flashed him a small smile. Elsie really wanted to start her day, to be busy and forget about her birthday.

"Still, I would appreciate it if you could spare a minute of your time right now." He made another move she had not expected of him and offered her his arm to lead her all the way along the corridor into his pantry.

Elsie tensed up a bit, afraid of what would happen. Since his return from London they had not really found the time to speak privately. First there had been the garden party, then several larger dinners and now the visit of the Duke tomorrow. Elsie wondered what it was that was so important to him that he interrupted their busy schedule.

"I think it is your birthday today, isn't it?" She had not realized that he had taken a small from the top of his desk along with a cream coloured envelope. "I know this is not our custom but I thought you would appreciate this. It is your fiftieth if I am not mistaken?"

Elsie stood before him, speechless, alternately looking at his hands and his face, unsure how to react. Since she had come to Downton no one had ever celebrated her birthday with her. When she was still head housemaid, the other girls sometimes brought her flowers but the day she had been promoted to housekeeper, this tradition had come to an end. She knew that Mr Carson had an excellent memory when it came to dates and numbers and occasionally they had shared a glass of wine or sherry in the evenings of her birthday, but never had he made her a present.

"I hope I have not overstepped the mark?" He still held the box in his outstretched hand. Elsie took deep breaths to suppress the tears that threatened to well up.

"No you haven't. Thank you. This is very kind." She managed to say before he put the present into her hands.

"You can open it now if you want. Or wait for later." Elsie could feel that he too was nervous about this. With slightly trembling hands she opened the box. Inside she found a brooch, gold, with a shiny white mother-of-pearl centrepiece. "I thought you deserved to have something nice for your birthday this year. I bought it while in London."

She was speechless and stared at the piece of jewellery in her hands. "Thank you." Elsie whispered, not taking her eyes off the brooch. "Thank you Charles." One more time she would allow her tongue to use his Christian name although they had decided to call each other by their titles again. But today was special and _Mr Carson _did not sound right at all.

"I hope you like it."

"I do. It is beautiful." At last she found the courage to look into his face again. Her voice was still nothing more than a whisper. "You shouldn't have…"

"I should", he interrupted her. "And now we better get on. I'd be honoured if you would join me for a glass of wine in the evening."

Elsie nodded. Of course she would join him. In fact, she would do everything for him if he'd just asked.

* * *

**2013**

_Dear Elsie,_

_A happy birthday to you. _

_C. Carson_

That was all. Viola turned the card around. There was no additional message written on the back. A bit frustrated by the short text she put it down again and then remembered the small black box. She had wanted to see what was inside for a while now but had restrained herself. Her eyes scanned the spread out keepsakes in front of her. Where was the jewellery box? She lifted a few of the papers until she remembered where she had put it. Her hands blindly grasped to the right and there it was.

She opened the lid and discovered a beautifully brooch. The gold and white still shone as if the piece had only been purchased recently. Viola carefully lifted the brooch out of the box and turned it around. There was an engraving on the back of it. _Happy 50__th__ birthday. _No wonder the card had said so little. What an expensive gift this was, and what a meaningful as well. Viola was now even more convinced that the two servants had more in common than their work. There certainly had been a very close friendship between them. After all, they saw each other every day and had probably worked together for a long time. You got to know people by then. Besides, butler and housekeeper often had to organise events together so Viola assumed that they had left their purely work related relationship behind long ago and established a deep friendship. No other explanation would make sense.

* * *

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**What remains of the Past**

_A/N I enjoy reading your reviews so much! Thank you! And because there can never be enought Carson/Hughes: here's the next chapter. Extra long!  
_

* * *

**Chapter 08**

**2013**

By 3 am in the morning, Viola had read all the letters from 1912, made extensive notes and had finished almost half of her bottle of wine. She really needed to sleep now and definitely stop drinking because the most absurd ideas had started to form in her mind. What if butler and housekeeper had secretly married at one point? Or what if they had a relationship and had kept it under wraps for years? Was such a thing possible? Would the other servants notice that Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes were actually a couple? Because the content of their correspondence during the London season of 1912 had changed again over the course of the year. The first thing Viola had observed was the return to their formal titles. They addressed each other as Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes now. But at the same time, what they wrote became more and more personal and often Viola felt to be privy to thoughts neither the housekeeper nor the butler would have shared with anyone else. She was not even sure if the two people were capable of talking about it openly. Sometimes it was easier to write down your thoughts than to express your feelings for another person eye to eye. They were so close in their letters that is was almost overwhelming. Viola would not necessary classify them as love letters but given the time they had been written and the background of the writers, she wondered what else these innumerous pages full of words were. Certainly not simple small talk.

A few of them had especially caught her attention and she had put them aside to re-read them later. Now she needed some rest first or else her eyes would fall shut on their own. Viola out the cushion she had brought with her under her head and used half of the blanket to cover her body. Soon she was fast asleep.

* * *

**1912**

He had left Downton this year with a nasty cold he had not completely cured. But this had not been the only problem that arose prior to their departure. From the moment Mr Carson had caught his cold, nothing had gone as planned. Thomas had taken ill too but suffered from a more severely case than his superior, William had to replace him at least for the first two weeks. Usually this would not have caused any problems, but the lad had only been in his job for a few months. He was afraid of doing things wrong, had suddenly lost all his self-confidence. It was Elsie who talked to him one night, told him that he had the skills and would make Mr Carson and the house immensely proud. And William believed her and most importantly, had faith again in his knowledge.

In London, Mrs Winter had broken her leg and Mr Carson tried desperately to find a replacement at the last minute. Then, when the day of their departure had come, the early train was late, leaving the whole company waiting for two extra hours in the pouring rain at the train station. Lord and Lady Grantham, along with the young ladies, had returned to the house but bringing all of the luggage back had been too much of an effort.

She could see how much all the extra stress affected him. Additional to the lack of concentration, he was in a bad mood all day. The tiniest mistake made him lose his patience and had sent a few of her maids to her sitting room, crying. He was not entitled to chide her girls but Elsie could not talk to him about his breach of decorum when she knew he was not himself. All she could do was handling all the minor problems that occurred, trying to keep those hidden from him.

She knew she had done a good job of that when Mr Carson said his good-bye in the morning of their departure.

"I am glad nothing else has happened to delay our journey any further." He had smiled at her, the only one in days. "Good-Bye Mrs Hughes. And thank you for everything."

* * *

Nine days had passed since she had closed the door behind him and had wished him good-bye as well as a nice time in London. At the end of the first week she usually received his first letter but so far nothing had arrived at Downton. Every morning and afternoon she suppressed the urge to run towards the backdoor as soon as the postman had announced his arrival. It took all her strength to wait patiently until a hallboy or one of the maids delivered the mail to her sitting room for her to sort it. Never was anything among it addressed to her. With every passing day that lacked a sign of him, her worries increased that something might have happened to him.

Finally, at the end of the second week Elsie sat down to write her first letter to him. She tried not to sound too desperate but it was not easy.

_Dear Mr Carson,_

_I hope you are well as I am a bit worried about not having received any of your letters by now. Usually you are very reliable when it comes to that. Therefore I break our rule and start our yearly correspondence. _

_Downton is much the same. Nothing of importance has happened since you departed two weeks ago. Thomas has regained his health and will be in London by the time this letter has reached you. If you can, please keep William a while longer. He needs the experience. _

_How is Mr Bates doing? Is his Lordship satisfied by his work? I cannot say what I think of him. He seems to be capable of doing his job despite his injury. _

_I will close now and hope for a reply from you soon._

_Yours sincerely _

_Elsie_

She signed it with her given name, did not want to be the colleague Mrs Hughes now, but his friend Elsie. If he were still ill, this would comfort him and perhaps also put a smile on his face. The letter would be send with the afternoon post and hopefully reach London within two days. She placed it on top of her linen rota and started her workday, thankful for every task that kept her occupied and distracted her.

* * *

The cold had gotten worse as soon as he had arrived in London. Rain, unusually cold weather for May and the exhausting weeks of planning prior to their journey had affected his health considerably. During the first few days Carson had managed to delegate some of his work, William had proven to be very good at his job and the right choice for the position of second footman. He was a worthy replacement for Thomas, took his job seriously and not once did Carson hear him complain about extra work. But after the fourth day, the fever had started. It was Lady Edith that had noticed it during dinner, an embarrassing moment for Carson to be send upstairs to his room by his Lordship to rest. The doctor was called and ordered bed rest for at least a week. Carson did not protest, could feel how good it was for his body to relax for a while, and he slept through the next two days, exhaustion taking its toll.

They were all worried for him, upstairs and downstairs. William had sat at his bedside for the first two nights, refusing to leave the room. Lord Grantham had the doctor come twice a day to check on the butler. Even the young ladies were seen in his room, bringing him water and Lady Sybil wiped his brow when the fever was burning him from the inside. When the third day dawned, the fever finally broke and Carson awoke from a deep and restful sleep.

"What day is it?" he asked, unsure who the person sitting next to his bed was. His vision was still blurry and his voice hoarse from days without speaking.

"Mr Carson, you are awake!" It was young William who immediately jumped to his feet and poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand. "Would you like something to drink?"

He studied the lad's face, grey from lack of sleep, eyes red rimmed with dark circles. "How long have you sat here?"

William shifted from one foot to the other. The obvious nervousness displayed on his face made Carson smile. He had not meant to scare the young man but it was not appropriate for a footman to sit at his bedside all night. "It is Friday, Mr Carson and I've been here for the last two nights", he confessed.

"Has it been that bad?" Carson tried to sit up but felt too weak to move his whole body. His own question had been answered by that. It had been more than a simple cold.

"The doctor was here every day. Twice." William handed him the glass. "Should I go and tell his Lordship you are feeling better?"

Carson let the water run down his throat, enjoyed the coolness of the liquid as it relieved his sore throat. "Please do so, William and thank you for taking care of me."

* * *

Nine days after his arrival in London he was back on his feet, ready to go back to work again. He still had to rely on William for some tasks, but gradually his health improved. So did the weather, offering them warm and sunny days and a myriad of fresh blossoms, making London almost as beautiful as their home in Yorkshire. The doctor had ordered long walks outside in the fresh air whenever Carson had time for such an activity. It was again thanks to William that he actually went outdoors for a stroll through the nearby park. Had the young man not proven to be so trustworthy and capable of his job, Carson would have felt nervous to leave him behind in charge of the house. He thought back to the days of hectic preparations at Downton Abbey, Thomas being ill, Mrs Winter indisposed, and Mrs Hughes trying to convince him to take William with him to London. His first reaction had been to say no, the lad still had too much to learn, was not ready for London yet. But of course he had been unable to ignore her request, could not simply leave her sitting room and pretend she had no idea what she was talking about. They shared the responsibility for the house, were both excellent at their job and the trust established between them over the last twenty years, was something he should respect and not question. Elsie Hughes had often proved to have a better knowledge of human nature than him. And she had been right about William.

Carson stopped dead in his tracks. She knew nothing about the seriousness of illness that had started as a simple cold, was probably waiting desperately for a letter from him and here he was, taking a walk outside, enjoying the spring air while back at Downton Elsie Hughes worried about him. How could he have let her down like that? Her quickened his steps and was back at Grantham House within ten minutes, hung his hat and coat and went straight into his pantry.

"Mr Carson?" He startled when he heard the familiar voice. "They said you were outside, taking a walk. I just arrived twenty minutes ago. I am sorry I did not announce my arrival earlier but Mrs Hughes thought it would be best to come as quick as possible."

Thomas stood in the doorway, head held high, voice self-confident and strong, not a sign left of his illness. He looked recuperated and had the familiar snarky smile on his lips. "Thomas. Welcome to Grantham House. I am sure you are still familiar with everything? William is in the dining room preparing the table for luncheon. You better go an join him."

The young man kept the smile on his face but Carson knew that it was only for show. Without further comment, the footman turned around and disappeared.

He was alone now and looking forward to sitting down and writing. There was so much he had to tell her. Carson took a seat behind his desk and grabbed for his pen and a piece of paper. Only then did he notice out of the corner of his eye that something was different, out of place somehow. There was an envelope lying on top of the black wine ledger. Her elegant script had written down his name and London address on the front. Quickly he opened it, almost tearing the envelope at the corners. He had never been more relieved to receive one of her letters and never been happier to read her words.

* * *

_Dear Elsie,_

_I apologize for not writing to you earlier but I had taken ill and was confined to bed for the most part of the last and this week. It seems no one has informed you about this and I am sorry to have caused you such worries._

_Thomas has just arrived and set to work. It might please you to hear that I will keep William here for the entirety of the season, as he has been very helpful while I was indisposed. _

_You inquire after Mr Bates. I am afraid I cannot say anything about him yet but I will let you know what I think in a later letter. _

_You may rest assured that I have completely recovered and will from now on continue our correspondence as usual._

_Excuse my use of your Christian name but it felt wrong to address you in any other way._

_Yours sincerely,_

_C. Carson_

She had read his letter three times already, was unable to put it away, add it to his previous ones that were hidden in one of the small drawers of her bureau. He was well and everything was fine. The relief she had felt when she had found his answer in the mail that morning was overwhelming. All day she could not wipe the smile off her face and even a snarky remark from Mrs Patmore could not damp her spirits.

It was dark outside now, past ten. The maids were in bed, the kitchen cold, dark and empty. She quickly sorted her ledgers, ensured everything was in order and prepared for the next day, then extinguished the light and climbed the stairs to her room in the attics. The letter was hidden in the pocket of her dress, crackling with every step she took, reminding her of its existence.

The corridor of the women's quarters was already quiet and dark, some faint snoring could be heard, emerging from somewhere. Elsie avoided any additional noise, almost tiptoed all the way towards her room. Inside it was still warm. May had been extraordinary changeable this year. Cold and rainy at the start and now on some days the month already felt like summer. Elsie enjoyed these early warm days. They caressed her soul, made her forget the dreaded dark and cold winter months she hated so much. And the sun would also help to ensure Mr Carson's state of health would stabilize and he would not suffer a relapse.

Elsie lit the lamp on her bedside table and quickly undressed. She braided her hair and had one last look at her face in the small mirror on her chest of drawers. There was a glow on her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes she had not seen there in years. The changes were minimal, noticeable probably only to her. Wasn't it incredible, how a simple letter could change ones mood so radically?

Since the tragic events in April, the house was in mourning for Mr Patrick and the people lost on the Titanic. Of course it had affected them all, created a tense atmosphere both upstairs and downstairs, laughter and jokes were subdued, shouting and harsh words reduced to a minimum. Until Lord Grantham had decided to join the season in London, they had all planned for a summer at Downton. Now that the family was gone, life returned to the house along with the summer routine they were used to, the cleaning, the preparations for autumn and winter. Things easily fell into place again and the black veil of mourning, that had covered them, was lifted. And now his letters started to arrive, letters that spoke not of inheritance problems or possible suitors for Lady Mary but remained unchanged, were filled with beautiful words in his impeccable script.

Elsie climbed into her bed and took his letter into her hands once more. She reread what he had written and her heart beat faster at his last words. He had called her Elsie again.

* * *

_Dear Mrs Hughes,_

_His Lordship has attended another memorial service today. Now that we have lost Mr Patrick, his Lordship is of course anxious to find a suitable husband for Lady Mary. I know you are not at one with me on that but what other option is there? Though I must admit I am not sure about this Mr Crawley. He seems unsuitable to me. _

_I am glad the problem with the new young maid has solved itself. I wish I could have been there in person to give you my support in that matter. I hope you can forgive me. _

_London is as busy as always. Lady Edith's débutant ball was a splendid occasion though it lasted long into the night. I won't repeat what I said last year, as you certainly know what I am implying. But rest assured, that I you won't get rid of me so soon. As I will certainly remain in my post until I draw my last breath. Let us hope that this day is still far away._

_Yours sincerely,_

She laughed out loud. This letter must have been written directly after the débutant ball when Mr Carson was still enchanted by its splendour. And it made amends for his first paragraph that had angered Elsie. All this talk about finding a suitable husband for a woman who was clearly not ready to get married, let alone marry a man she did neither know nor love. Elsie knew how important it was to ensure that the title and the future of the estate were secured but she pitied Lady Mary. There was no doubt she would have had a very angry discussion with Mr Carson had he addressed the topic in front of her yet again. Now she just ignored what he had said and concentrated on the parts of the letter that made her smile.

June had almost passed now and their correspondence had returned to their usual regularity. She was always well informed about life in London and shared what news she could offer with him. A week ago one of the new housemaids had been caught with a suitor, kissing in the darkness of the backyard. Unlucky for them, Elsie had seen them and reprimanded the girl immediately. The bags were packed and the next morning, Caroline was out of the house. The punishment was harsh but necessary as it had not been the first time she had seen the girl breaking the rules. One telling off had been insufficient so in consequence, the girl had to leave. Such were the rules and Elsie applied them outright. In her days, Caroline would have been without a job already a while ago. She had offered the girl a second chance which had been ignored.

Still smiling, she put the letter aside and continued her work. They had advertised for a replacement for Caroline the day after her dismissal. Several applications had arrived so far and Elsie was currently studying them. This was the part where she could use his help. He always managed to look at things from a different angle and she needed exactly this right now. All the letters on her desk sounded the same; the references hardly differed from one another. Any of them would do but she had to find the one she could trust.

With a deep sigh she closed her folder and decided to take a quick walk outside. Perhaps it would help her make a decision.

* * *

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**What remains of the Past**

_A/N Finally an update! I was away over the weekend including Friday and Monday and I had to fix a few things in this chapter :). But now: it's ready to be read by you. I hope you like it. Things still go slowly but soon I'll speed up the story a bit. Enjoy reading!_

* * *

**Chapter 09**

**2013**

Viola woke with a start. There was a cramp in her left leg that hurt so badly that she almost screamed. As fast as she could she tried to get rid of it but it took a while until the pain subsided.

"Shit." She checked her watch. "Shit." It was past nine in the morning. Time for breakfast and her mother always got a bit suspicious when Viola did not turn up. Quickly, she sorted her stuff and made her way downstairs, trying hard not to run into anyone on the way to her rooms. No one needed to know where exactly she had spent her night even though she had done nothing that would cause gossip about her family or ruin her _oh so important _reputation.

Her entire body hurt from the night on the hard wooden floor and what she needed now, aside from breakfast, was a long, hot shower. The problem was: she did not have any time for that. Exhausted she stumbled into her room, tossed away her sweater, tried to get out of her jeans while walking to the en suite bathroom and got caught in one of the legs. Swearing under her breath, she freed her foot and left the trousers lying on the floor in the middle of the room. Viola did not have much time. Tidying her room could wait for later. Quickly she undressed and had a five-minute shower that woke her up a bit more but was not at all relaxing and comforting. Within another fifteen minutes, her hair still damp and in a messy ponytail, she dressed and was out of her room again, running down the stairs towards the dining room.

"Sorry, I'm late. Overslept." Her mother looked up from the magazine she was reading, scrutinizing her from head to toe. "And mom, I wasn't out last night. No need to ask or look at me like that."

Marjorie raised her brows and pursed her lips, obviously not believing a word of what Viola had said. However, she stopped staring at her daughter and continued reading.

"Good morning pops." Viola took the chair next to her father who smiled at her warmly.

"Good morning dear. You look a bit worn out."

Viola set down the cup of tea she had just grabbed. "Do I? I didn't sleep really well."

"You work too hard." Her father passed her the cereals she preferred for breakfast and before she could disagree with him, he continued, "I always say that, I know."

"You always say it and pops, this time it wasn't work." The last part she said in a whisper, hoping her mother would not overhear them on the other side of the table.

"Oh, will you tell me about it?" He leaned forward and asked in an equally low voice, eyeing her mother who was still engrossed in her magazine.

"Later." Viola grinned and then started her breakfast, famished by now.

* * *

**1912**

The walk had been the right decision. Elsie enjoyed the warm summer breeze outside, the soft grass under her feet and the sun that warmed her face. She was reminded of her birthday last year, the evening she had spent together with Mr Carson until the wee hours of the morning. To say that it had been the best birthday she had ever experienced was an understatement.

He had given her the brooch she wore every Sunday to church, had invited her for a glass of a most exquisite wine in the evening and later they had been out for a walk in the dark yet still warm September night. They talked for more than an hour, about this and that, the house their jobs, their lives. Never had she shared a more intimate moment with Mr Carson. He laughed about a story she told him from her childhood. The one day where Elsie Hughes had been convinced she could fly if she climbed the highest tree on their farm and jump down from it, holding an umbrella. She had been a lucky eight-year-old girl that her experiment ended in a fresh haystack her father had left under the tree.

At one moment during their walk, they had been out for at least an hour and were returning to the house, he had caught her fall because she had lost her footing on the uneven path and stumbled. His hands where on her hip and shoulder, his face close to hers when he bent down to make sure she was all right. She could feel his warm breath on her cheek, his strong hands. He was her best friend, a colleague, she had spend all her life to build her career, to reach this point of her life, valued her independence. Still, Elsie could not deny that Charles Carson made her heart beat faster.

She smiled at the fond memory. Almost a year had passed and nothing had changed between them. There was no romance, no secret kisses they shared when no one was watching. However, Elsie felt they were closer since that nightly walk. It had deepened their friendship, established a new level of trust between them.

When she returned to the house, Mrs Patmore was waiting outside in the backyard.

"Is something the matter?" Elsie hoped she was spared another discussion about the store cupboard key today.

"We ran out of flour, however that could happened." Arms crossed, she stared at the housekeeper, her face flushed by anger.

"That's unlikely. There has been a delivery just two days ago. I ordered it. Didn't you check the delivery?"

"I thought you did." Now it was Elsie's turn to cross her arms and looking down at the cook who always wanted to be in control of the resupply.

"Well it seems none of us did so you better send two of your girls down into the village to fix this." She walked past the cook, through the backdoor into the house. Her good mood had vanished into thin air. Again she wished, Mr Carson was here to comfort her. On an ordinary day, she would have gone to his pantry now and complain about Mrs Patmore, let it all out in a lengthy rant. During the season the only way to calm down after such a mishap was to write yet another letter to him.

_Dear Mr Carson,_

_You know I cannot comment on the current development regarding the entail. It would lead to a discussion we both should not waste words on right now._

_Today I was looking at possible replacements for Caroline. However I have not made a decision yet. The girls applying for the open position are all very capable of the job. _

_Today I was reminded of the lovely walk we took on my birthday last year. Remember when you told me about your father and the horses? I still think about this evening often and hope we can repeat it this year at some future date. _

_Aside from the wonderful weather there is nothing to report from Downton, I'm afraid. Everything is just as it always is. So I am looking forward to hear about the busy life in London._

_Yours sincerely,_

_E. Hughes_

* * *

**2013**

It took her one and a half hour to convince her mother that all was well, that she had not stayed out dancing and drinking last night. She was in her thirties! But the argument _I can do as I please _did not change things where her mother was concerned. Marjorie insisted that Viola assisted her sister this afternoon with some of the wedding planning as an apology for her behaviour yesterday. She had no choice but to agree grudgingly.

When Marjorie finally let go of her, she had told her a lie about an important article she had to write, Viola almost ran back upstairs to her room to get some more supplies for her new attic retreat. First of all: more cushions. But she also packed a small bag with food and something to drink other than wine, a bottle of water and some orange juice as well as a cup. It was like going to a picnic on a warm summer day except that she stayed indoors in a dark attic with only a small access to direct daylight.

The way up again through the private part of the house was much easier than having to walk through the main lobby with the guests checking in and out at the moment. She was thankful again for the servant's staircase that connected all parts of the house with each other. Viola remembered a few shortcuts she had discovered during her childhood when she considered Downton Abbey as a huge playground every classmate envied her for.

Her walk along the former servant's quarters, so exciting the other day, now felt like being in any other part of the house. For the first time, Viola allowed herself to inspect the signs on the doors more closely. Maybe it was worth having a look inside one of the rooms. If she only knew which had been Mr Carson's and which Mrs Hughes's? She placed her extra supplies on the floor and studied the long corridor for a moment. In the middle of it used to be a door, dividing the men from the women. Only the frame was left nowadays. Once men entered this place of the house by the staircase she had just used, whereas the women had separate stairs on the other side so footmen and maids would not accidentally meet in the middle of the corridor in their nightclothes. If she were the head of the house, Viola would have given the butler the room right next to the door in the middle of the sleeping quarters. The same applied for the housekeeper. Both were then close to the _forbidden gate. _

Viola opened the door to her right that said: Christmas decoration. It was dark, the window dirty from years of dust covering the glass. Outlines of boxes, stacked high in the left corner of the room, were visible. Viola didn't know that her mother had such a large stock of Christmas decoration that it needed its own room. She tried the light switch and the faint glow of an old light bulb lighted the room a tad. Hidden in the middle of all the boxes, there were an old bed and a chest of drawers. Viola's curiosity was stirred yet again. She opened a drawer. Empty. When she stuck her hand inside to feel for hidden things in the corners she found nothing. The second one was empty too. But in the bottom one, Violas hand touched something hard in the back of the drawer. She tried to get a hold on it and pull it out, but it was stuck. Once more she tried to feel it, find out what it was. Obviously the drawer had a hole in the back and whatever it was that was stuck back there had partly slipped through. Viola applied some force, jiggled the drawer, tried to get it out completely. It moved bit by bit until it suddenly gave away and she fell backwards onto the dirty floor, holding the damn thing in her hands. What had been stuck on the corner was a book. Smaller than a regular novel, with a brown leather cover. She extracted it. It was a bit damaged at the sides but otherwise fine. Viola opened it and her breath stopped when she read the name on the first page in the top right corner: _Charles Carson. _

She turned the page. The next one was covered in his handwriting. This was a diary! Viola could not believe her luck! This room had been occupied by so many people after Charles Carson and no one had ever tried to find out why the bottom drawer was stuck? She just accidentally found an old diary!

The first entry was from October 1914. Viola did not read it, not yet. She flipped through the small book and found that only half the pages had been used. She assumed that the book then got lost somehow and Mr Carson had started a new one. Why had he kept this one hidden in a drawer whose purpose it was to keep clothing? A book belonged on a shelf. Even if it was only a simple diary. Maybe it wasn't? It took a lot of strength not to take a second tiny glimpse at another page. She would read it as soon as she had reached the letters of that year.

* * *

Once she had made her secret place comfortable again, Viola took the 1912 letters she had started to reread and continued her research, putting his diary far enough away. She did not want to be tempted to pick it up. Not yet.

The letter she was now reading was at least as interesting as any entry in a diary. They had both talked about a walk they had taken, childhood memories and his father. That such intimate details were shared between two colleagues made Viola even more suspicious. But there was no need to rush through things. She wanted to enjoy her search for the truth about Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes. So she concentrated on the letter in her hands again.

_Dear Mrs Hughes,_

_I also have fond memories of that walk. It is sad that we so seldom have the opportunity to enjoy such a thing._

_London has been quiet the last week, except for Lady Edith's ball. I'm afraid a lot of the families are in mourning for the relative they have lost on the Titanic. I had some time to rest and was reading Jane Eyre the other night. I know, this is not the kind of literature a man reads but I remember that you are fond of it and I wanted to know what it was about. His Lordship had a copy of the book in his library here in London. I must say, the story is extraordinary interesting. Perhaps we can talk about it at my return? _

_I know that your edition is old and frail so I took the liberty and made a purchase. It is in the mail already and should arrive at Downton shortly, probably a day or two before the letter reaches you. _

_Yours sincerely,_

_C. Carson_

Viola browsed through the books she had put into one corner. There had been a copy of _Jane Eyre _somewhere among them. She found it below Charles Dickens's _Great Expectations, _the blue linen book cover faded and spotted. In a child's handwriting a name was added, marking the book as the belonging of Elspeth Hughes. This was the copy Mrs Hughes had kept since her childhood. It also bore her full name. A wide smile was on Viola's face. What a treasure for a young girl, what a discovery for her. But where was the copy Charles Carson had sent her from London? Again she read the titles on the spines. There was no second copy of Jane Eyre among them.

* * *

**1912**

"There is a package for you Mrs Hughes. I have put it on your desk", Gwen informed her when she came back from inspecting the chandeliers in the large dining room. The brass had been polished this morning, however not thorough enough. They needed another going over right now.

"A package?" she asked. Today was neither her birthday nor any other special occasion. On a simple, normal workday she did not expect any extras to be delivered by the postman. She had not ordered additional thread and wool from the store in Ripon or a new ledger.

"The post boy from the village brought it half an hour ago. Said it came with the afternoon train." Gwen explained.

"Good. Thank you Gwen. Can you take perhaps take care of the chandeliers in the dining room? Emma and Lily apparently cleaned it but not good enough. Maybe you can give it another go? And take Madge with you." The young housemaid nodded and was on her way upstairs right away. Elsie walked on, curious about the package now. Who could have sent it?

It was still were Gwen had put it, wrapped in brown paper, lying on her desk, waiting to be opened. She had a closer look and her face lit up. This was Charles Carson's handwriting on the front. Quickly, she untied the string that held the paper together. A book was revealed with a black cover and fine golden lettering on the spine. Elsie let her fingers brush over it, enjoyed the feeling of the new material, the smoothness, the sharp edges. Then she read the inscription. _Jane Eyre. _She already owned a copy of that one, her most cherished possession. He knew about it, was aware that she favoured this book. Still, she had never expected him to purchase a new edition for her. Elsie opened it, inhaled the smell only a fresh book could offer. Inside lay a small card, written in his impeccable script.

_For your ever growing bookshelf. Enjoy it. C._

Her fingertip traced the letters, then she brought the card to her lips and placed a gentle kiss on the paper. A second later she turned around, making sure no one had witnessed this short moment of sentimentality. Some maid informing her colleagues that the housekeeper kissed a piece of paper was something she did not need to hear on the floors of Downton Abbey as whispered gossip travelling from ear to ear.

* * *

The book lay on top of her duvet that night, the small card sticking out of it, marking a page. She had started reading it after dinner, alone in her sitting room, by the light of the old oil lamp on her table. All the words were familiar to her, some she had even memorized over the years. However, reading this copy felt different, fresh, like discovering something new. First he had given her the brooch for her birthday, now a book. Expenses he did not have to make and that she did not expect him to do for her. How could she ever pay him back for this kindness?

Elsie climbed into her bed and picked the book up to continue her reading. But she could not concentrate on the words anymore. Too many thoughts occupied her mind all of a sudden. The question of why he had made another present was the most pressing. Of course she enjoyed being the person who for once was in the centre of attention, even if it was only between them. Still, no one else had ever been this nice to her after she had left her home to start her career in service. Joe had brought her flowers sometimes, invited her to a dance, or some tea. He did all the things she expected him to do during their brief courtship. Mr Carson was not a suitor, not a man who wooed for her. They were not courting, would never be in the position that allowed them to. Work came first, their duties were the more important than their private lives. But maybe this was about to change?

She shook her head to banish all these thoughts, put them back into the place where they had come from, close the door behind them and throw away the key. Her attention returned to her reading. It was such a wonderful book, the story told so excellent in Bronte's perfect style. She managed to read a few more pages until the image of him reading this exact same book, returned. Elsie closed her novel and put it aside on the nightstand, then extinguished the lamp. Maybe all of this would solve itself over night, in a dream.

* * *

The letter that partly explained why he had sent the book arrived two days later with the early mail. Elsie could not believe that he had indeed read the book. He was fond of Dickens and Kipling. Not Bronte and Austen, Shelley or Wilde. This man was full of surprises sometimes, especially when he was away in London, and Elsie learnt more about him than when he was with her at Downton Abbey. Maybe it was the distance put between them, the loneliness each of them felt but would never admit, that made them vulnerable, more open towards each other.

During the rest of the year he was more reserved, not necessarily towards her, but she knew that they could not talk about certain things. He would try to avoid giving her an answer. So she was glad that their letters existed. They showed his true self.

_Dear Mr Carson,_

_The book indeed arrived prior to the letter and I was surprised to receive it. It is such a thoughtful gift. It surprises me that you have read and enjoyed it. But it also makes me proud that I can now share the knowledge about this book with you. _

_I hope you will forgive me for not reading Dickens while you are away. Perhaps you can convince me why I should at your return._

_Thank you again for your gift,_

_Yours sincerely_

_E. Hughes_

She could not write more without getting too sentimental or mentioning things that should not be discussed in a letter, or ever be said aloud in front of him. Elsie had to accept that he had meant this gift as a gesture of his friendship. Everything else were the thoughts of a foolish mind that had been alone for too long.

* * *

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**What remains of the Past**

_A/N Thank you for still reading this MONSTER! Although nothing has happened so far! There is no M-rating, not even T! Nothing! And I know how much you all love M-rated fics. But... there need to be other fics too ;-). Please let me know what you think. And don't worry, chapter 13 and 14 (don't worry, you won't have to wait long!) will see some development - finally! SPOILERS_

* * *

**Chapter 10 **

**2013**

Three hours had passed since Viola had come back to the letters and books, when the alarm on her mobile almost made her jump. The appointment with her sister was in thirty minutes and she had not even read half the letters of 1913!

"Damn it." She rubbed her eyes, took a sip from her water bottle. "Stupid family. Why can't you just leave me alone?" Viola set the alarm on repeat so that it would go off again in 15 minutes, then returned to what she had read. It was another letter from Mr Carson sent to Mrs Hughes, sometime in the middle of the 1913 season. Viola had by now sorted everything into two stacks. Her letters on the left, his on the right. Whenever she had finished one of them, she looked for the corresponding one. That way, she had created a third stack that consisted of their entire correspondence between 1911 and 1913. It was amazing how many letters they had exchanged in the course of only three months. Compared to the amount of mails Viola received every day it was only a very small percentage but given the circumstances that London could only be reached by train in that era and every piece of mail was sorted by hand, two letters each week was quite an achievement.

Like the previous years, the amount of personal information shared in their writing, had increased. Of course they still exchanged things concerning their jobs, but that was not the main function anymore. Mrs Hughes missed her good friend, Mr Carson longed for their evening talks.

* * *

**1913**

_Dear Mrs Hughes,_

_I still think of the conversation we had in your sitting room about Joe Burns. I know it is not for me to have an opinion on that matter but I wanted you to know that I think your decision was the right one. You have worked long and hard for your position. Giving all of it up would have been a mistake. _

_Please forgive my openness regarding this subject. Would you wish to continue discussing this topic, please let me know. I…_

He stopped writing, reread the beginning of his letter and crumpled the paper. The whole matter reminded him too much of his past, of wrong decisions and lost chances. He did not want her to leave Downton but he also wanted to make sure she was happy, enjoyed her life and work there. Joe Burns was a phantom from her past, a person she had once known well, someone she shared some nice memories with. However, people changed, life had altered all of them. They had moved on, made new acquaintances, had seen something of the world.

Carson took up his pen again, ready to give this letter a second try.

_Dear Mrs Hughes,_

_The conversation we had in your sitting room about Joe Burns is still on my mind. I thought about what you had said. There is nothing wrong with change when it leads to finding a place in life that one enjoys. I hope you enjoy your work at Downton and the people there, that there is no regret. _

_Life is about making decisions, about taking new chances and missing some. Alas, there are a lot I should have taken and ignored. _

_Enough of my sentimental words now. Please be assured that this will remain the only letter discussion this issue. _

_The young ladies have been to the opera yesterday. His Lordship was so generous and offered me to accompany them along with the governess. Mrs Hughes, it was the most splendid thing I have ever seen. The costumes and the scenery were most magnificent. _

_I shall close now. As always I am looking forward to your reply._

_Yours sincerely,_

He hoped she would not be angry with him for what he had written. However, it was the truth and she should know that he would always be there to support her, whatever decision she made. Of course he had been glad not to lose her, that she had realized Downton was more important for her now than that old suitor. It was a selfish thought but he could not help it.

Like the many letters he had sent her before, this one was carefully folded and soon ready to be posted. He would go to the post office himself in the morning.

* * *

Weeks after she had again refused Joe's offer to marry her, Elsie still could not stop thinking about him and the conversation she had afterwards with Mr Carson. Of course life had changed her and she was a different person now. But had it changed her for the better? She often wondered about the what if's in her life, the chances she had seen and deliberately missed. Joe Burns was of course one of them. There had been others too, jobs she had not taken on, houses she had left because there was always a better position somewhere else. What good was it to muse about such things?

Downton had been the place that had made her truly happy for the first time in her life. When she started as a head housemaid it was like any other place she had worked: a good job in a respectable position in one of the grand houses of the country. Over the years it became home and when she looked back now, she realized that it had been that right from the start. The people living and working here were responsible for this feeling of being comfortable and save. He had made it her home. Their companionship was one of the reasons she could not leave this place.

She had received his letter in the morning. Reading it had been a shock, because he seldom was that open and direct in his writing. What he had written had touched Elsie once again. He was a true friend, a dear one, one she would not want to miss.

Replying to him would not be an easy task this time. She wanted to let go of Joe, had no intention of bringing him up yet again. For the first time in years, Elsie decided to let his letter rest for a while and to answer it tomorrow, or the day after. Her words needed to be chosen carefully to express her gratitude and her friendship.

* * *

**2013**

Viola's alarm started again. A loud and piercing _beep beep beep _in the quietness of the attic. Annoyed she pressed a few icons on the touchscreen to make it stop. She really had to go now or her mother and sister would be furious, risking the continuation of her secret project by finding more and more tasks for her that involved Claire's wedding.

"Good bye for now. I'll come back." She whispered, feeling not at all ridiculous talking to the things her mother and sister would regard as lifeless. These letters had more life in them than any other Viola had ever read. Perhaps she could ask her father a few questions about the history of Downton? After all, he was the heir to the title, the current Lord Grantham. Someone in his family must have taught him something. His father maybe, or even his grandfather?

The prospect of going downstairs again became a bit brighter with that thought. Viola hurried her steps and arrived just in time at her sister's office. Claire sat behind her massive black desk, studying some magazines. While her mother sat in one of the not very comfortable looking chairs, legs crossed, an ipad on her knees.

"There you are Vi!" Claire had a smile on her face for a change and it even reached her eyes.

"Here I am. So what's the plan?" She sat down on the corner of the desk. "Looking at magazines?"

Marjorie let out an exasperated sigh. "Viola, why don't you take this seriously?"

"Sorry mom, but if this was my wedding I would, maybe. Claire, that doesn't mean I am not happy for you but planning weddings, is simply not my favourite thing. Besides, I have work to do." She crossed her arms and looked at her sisters and her mother.

"Work. Of course." Marjorie did not even look up from her electronic toy. That her daughter was a successful journalist, a studied historian, specialized in European history of the 17th to 19th century, who had travelled all across the world to report about archaeological excavations meant nothing to her mother. Claire, she was important because she ran the hotel, took care that their heritage did not get lost in the so rapidly changing 21st century.

"Yes, work. I am working on a very important article right now." Which was half of the truth at least.

"Fine. We won't take away much of your precious time then." Finally Marjorie put aside the ipad.

"Vi, I need your help with the theme of the wedding. You know I want it to have a Victorian style but mom," Claire shot her mother an angry look, "does not really understand the difference between baroque and Victorian. You are the only one in this house who can help me!"

This was indeed not a request Viola could turn her back on. "Show me those magazines and we make a collage with all the things Victorian. That will give you an overall idea." And they set to work.

* * *

**1913**

"Mr Carson sent a telegram. They will be back tomorrow morning. Make sure everything's ready!" Elsie almost ran along the corridor towards her sitting room. The telegram had just arrived and although Mr Carson had expressed his apologies in a few short words, nothing changed the fact that they returned one week earlier than planned. According to the piece of paper she was holding, his Lordship has made the decision this very morning when he had been informed that one of the tenant farms had burnt down a day ago. Elsie had heard nothing about it although gossip travelled fast at Downton. Lord Grantham would travel with Mr Carson, Mr Bates and the two footmen. Her Ladyship would take the train on Thursday together with the young ladies. So they had only today for taking care the last preparations. Luckily they were ahead of their schedule by a few days. The master bedrooms were clean, so was the dining room and the large hall. Only a few guest bedrooms and the drawing room had not been cleaned thoroughly a second time yet. Elsie would send her best housemaids upstairs in a minute.

"Gwen, Madge, Alice!" She shouted their names across the corridor and the three girls came running. "His Lordship will return tomorrow. We still have a few more rooms to clean. See that you each get two more girls and set to work immediately."

As quickly as they had arrived, the girls were off again, running upstairs, fetching other maids to help them with the work. Elsie smiled a bit at their eagerness. She had taught them well. They took their work seriously, handled their tasks with the required respect and knew that, if they did well, a promotion was possible. Perhaps not at Downton, but Elsie would give each one of them a good reference in case they would go looking for a higher position at a different house.

Her next stop was the kitchen to inform Mrs Patmore about the change of plans. Before Elsie could say anything, the cook had already raised her hands.

"I know, I know. They come back tomorrow. I heard your shouting already. We'll prepare something for luncheon and dinner and I'll have Daisy fetch a few more supplies from the village."

"Very well, Mrs Patmore. I appreciate your help." And again, Elsie smiled which baffled the cook a bit. Mrs Patmore stared at her for a moment before she shook her head and continued with her baking.

* * *

He would be back tomorrow was all she could think about after she had closed the door of her sitting room behind her. Of course today and the next morning would be stressful for her and the other servants and it something she would have gladly avoided, but the prospect of him returning a week in advance outweighed the negative aspects.

Since he had sent her the letter about Joe, Elsie had not been able to stop her thoughts to revolve about him. Each night she wondered about their friendship, each day she asked herself the same questions. Could they have gone another way together? Or was this all something her mind had made up. She desperately needed to talk to him in person. His early return would give her the chance to do so sooner than expected and Elsie was sure she would not sleep a wink tonight.

She opened her copy of Jane Eyre again, reread his message again like she had so many times during his absence already, then turned her attention back to his last letter.

_Dear Mrs Hughes,_

_I am glad the London season is over soon so that I can return home. Although this year it has been more enjoyable, I long for Downton and the people there. Of course I am also looking forward to seeing you again. I miss our talks and discussions. _

_Her Ladyship has not mentioned the annual garden party to me yet. I hope that if she has plans for holding it that she has informed you about it. I do not want to add this to your regular workload on short notice. _

_You mentioned the book I had sent you last year in your letter. I am glad you still enjoy It that much. In fact, I have made another purchase but it will remain a surprise until my return._

_We will be seeing each other soon._

_Yours sincerely_

_C. Carson_

* * *

They all stood outside the large front door, waiting for them. Carson could see them already when they turned into the driveway towards Downton Abbey. The gravel crunched underneath the car's wheels, a familiar sound, one of the many he associated with this house. Fast, they approached the front door and Branson stopped the car in front of it. Carson got out and held open the passenger side door so that Lord Grantham could leave the vehicle. Thomas, William and Mr Bates travelled in a car right behind them that came to a stop just now. The other men quickly stepped out to take care of the luggage.

"It's good to be back", Lord Grantham exclaimed with a broad smile on his face.

"Welcome home, your Lordship." She had been at their side immediately, wearing her customary black dress and looking exactly the same like three months ago. A polite smile was on her lips and she looked at him for a brief second before turning her attention back to Lord Grantham.

"Hello, Mrs Hughes. I hope we did not create too much of a chaos by our early return?"

"Not at all milord." He knew that this was only half the truth and bit back a smile. "We have prepared a light luncheon for you."

"Splendid. Carson, you take care of our bags?"

"Of course your Lordship." William and Thomas had already handed most of them over to the few hallboys waiting outside with the housemaids.

Lord Grantham disappeared into the house, followed by Mrs Hughes. The remaining staff helped to unload the cars and hurried back inside around the house, through the back door, while Carson waited for the chauffeur to bring the cars back to the garage. Only then did he finally enter the house through the front door, allowed himself his own moment of homecoming. The grandeur of the large hall, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner, the boys sorting the luggage that would go upstairs in one corner. He waited for one of them to take his coat and hat before he entered the dining room to return to his work.

Mrs Hughes had prepared a buffet, easy to handle without footmen or butler. Lord Grantham already held a plate in his hand and was studying the food.

"Oh Carson, there you are. Mrs Patmore has outdone herself again." He turned to Mrs Hughes. "Please let her know that."

Everything was back to normal then.

* * *

He made his way downstairs forty minutes later, exhausted from the journey but happy to be back home were he belonged. Not the busy and ever changing London. But the quiet, calming Downton Abbey. The smells and the noises were the same, the steps under his feet creaked with every step he took. A kitchen maid ran across the corridor, carrying something she had got out of the cold larder outside, Mrs Patmore was yelling something at Daisy. He passed the servant's hall where the other kitchen maids laid the table for their lunch. He was famished after long journey and could not wait to have a bite to eat, though first he had to see her and talk to her.

Mrs Hughes was in her sitting room, sitting over a ledger but she immediately turned around when he heard his steps behind her.

"Welcome back Mr Carson." That smile was still there on her face, this time reaching her eyes.

"It's good to be back, Mrs Hughes." He stood awkwardly in the doorway.

"Why don't you come inside?" She closed the book and stood, walking over to where he was. "I hope you had a nice journey? You gave us quite a shock with your telegram yesterday."

"I wish I had known all of this earlier. Apologies for the additional work and stress this caused."

"Nonsense." Her hand squeezed his arm gently but the moment she realized what she was doing, it was gone and a faint blush graced her face. "Excuse me Mr Carson. I didn't mean to…."

"Nonsense," he repeated what she had said a second ago. "Although it was a stressful day yesterday, I am happy to be back a week earlier. I've missed this." Carson saw the look on her face, shock, happiness, uncertainty. He could not tell. "I mean all of this. The house, the people in it. You." He had not meant to be so open but now it was said and stood between them. Carson could not take it back. Her smile widened and now it was his turn to touch her shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze.

For a while they just stood there, looking at each other, both smiling gently. What happened outside in the kitchen, the housemaids running to and fro, hallboys carrying shoes and boots, empty suitcases, all of it did not matter. The most important thing was that they were united again, a team. "Perhaps we should join the others for luncheon now?"

Her voice broke the spell. "A very good idea. The journey has made me quite hungry."

"Mrs Patmore has prepared a lovely stew I think and some apple pie from the first, early fruit." She left the room and waited for him to follow her before she closed the door.

"Apple tart is a wonderful welcome treat, Mrs Hughes."

* * *

**2013**

Viola had spread the magazines in a circle around her on the floor. With a yellow marker and a pair of scissors as her weapons of choice, she had created a small collage of various things that the 21st century considered _Victorian. _Claire was sitting opposite her on a couch, watching her.

"So, you've got the dress. I think that's the most important item on your list and it will of course stand out in all of this. Then you'll need the decoration for the tables." She made a yellow cross next to a flower bouquet in one of the magazines.

"And we also need to decorate the room! And what about the cake?" Claire pointed out.

"Can we do one thing first and then concentrate on all the other?" Viola rubbed her temples. As much fun as this was, her sister seemed to forget that she was only the spectator and not doing the work right now. Viola would prefer to go back to the attics now for a break of two or three hours and then continue with this chaotic wedding planning.

"I just don't want you to forget. Sorry, Vi. I know I am asking a lot."

"How about I finish finding you a suitable table decoration and you give me two hours of free time and then we go over the other stuff?" Perhaps she could buy herself some time, play her joker card.

"Two hours? I wanted to be done by then." Claire sighed. "But well, yes. I suppose so. Anything important? Work?"

"Yes, work." Viola smiled and set to work again. Work she did voluntarily, work she loved and would not so fast abandon. The story of Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes was worth more than a simple article in one of the next National Geographic issues. If she could, Viola would write a book, if only one for herself to cherish the memory of these two people, to raise them a monument.

* * *

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**What remains of the Past**

_A/N In which Viola starts to read the 1914 letters. Like I said: Things start to change now... Enjoy reading!_

* * *

**Chapter 11**

**2013**

Thankfully, Claire was not as prejudiced as her mother and, after Viola had promised to return after two hours, she was free to go. She left the room in a normal pace, waving good bye to her sister but as soon as she had closed the door behind her, she ran along the corridor, down the stairs, through the oak door that separated the private part of the house from the hotel. From their side she could simply open the door and slip through. Access from the hotel required a passcode. One Viola forgot on a regular basis because her mother changed it every four weeks for safety reasons. For today she was glad she had not to remember the unnecessary password. The massive door closed with a bang behind her and Viola slowed her pace, walked through the lobby as normally as she was able to, hiding her excitement.

"Hello Miss Crawley." The lady at the reception greeted her with a friendly smile. "Can I help you in any way?"

"Oh I'm fine. Thanks." She walked on but then an idea crossed her mind. "Mrs Smith you've worked here for a while, haven't you?"

"Yes, for twenty years now I think. Why do you ask?"

Viola knew that her mother would not be able to answer this question, her father probably could but he was out, somewhere on the grounds, talking to the gardeners. So her only other option was asking a trusted employee like Mrs Smith for help. "Is there some kind of chronicle about the house and I don't mean the hotel."

Mrs Smith genuinely smiled. "Of course there is. It's in the library I believe. The private part of course, not the one accessible to the guests. Your father made me read it when I started working here. Has he never shown it to you?"

"We are the new generation Mrs Smith, apparently the only thing we need to know about our heritage are the things relevant for business. Maybe that's why I went away to study history." Because she could not learn anything about her family at her own home although the Crawley's had been living in Yorkshire for centuries. Frustrated about her parent's lack of interest for their own past, though it was mainly Viola's mother who considered it unimportant, she had fled from her home to study history, to gather as much knowledge as possible about her own country and its people at university.

"I will show you were it is if you give me a minute."

Impatiently, Viola waited for Mrs Smith to fetch a young receptionist to cover the desk for her while she went to the library.

"We can go now. But I only have a few minutes." She followed the older woman through one of the doors that led to the impressive library of Downton Abbey. As a child, Viola loved to play here, take the book from the shelves and study all the beautiful pictures in them, if she found any. Then, her mother had decided to preserve the books. Now Plexiglas covered the shelves and one needed a key to open these doors. Mrs Smith led her to a small shelf in the corner next to the window and the hidden door. From her hip she unhooked a key and opened the lock.

"Here you go. This should answer all your questions."

In her hands Viola now held a leather-bound volume with golden imprinted letters and the family crest on the cover. It was heavy and smelled like the old atlases she loved as a child. "Thank you, you don't know what this means to me."

"You are welcome."

* * *

She had everything she needed now, their letters, a diary and the chronicle. This would eventually help her to find the missing parts in her puzzle, fill the gaps the letters inevitably left behind by covering only three months of every year. Happy, she jumped up the stairs like a child, taking two steps at a time, whistling a silly tune. The book she carried with both hands, was her key to unlock more of the secrets the housekeeper and butler had shared.

Viola had to make some room on her blanket for the large book. It felt a bit like Christmas to open it. The musty smell of the old paper was the perfect perfume for a historian like her. Between her fingers, the old pages rustled every time she turned one. Viola browsed the book carefully, her eyes scanning every other word of it, until she had reached the year 1890. She assumed that this was probably the time when Mrs Hughes had started working as a housekeeper at Downton Abbey. Like Viola had expected, there was a list of the family members on the first page, followed by one that mentioned all the servants employed at the estate at that time. Butler and housekeeper, as well as valet and lady's maid were mentioned with their full name, other servants simply listed as a group. It said housemaids: 25, footmen: 11, kitchen staff: 12, and so on. Mr Carson was there, Mrs Hughes was not. Viola skipped a few more pages until she reached the next year. There was still no Mrs Hughes mentioned. But in 1892 she found her, listed underneath Mr Carson, as newly appointed housekeeper.

That was the first bit of information she had needed. The two had known each other for at least 20 years. It explained the familiar tone of their correspondence, the small jokes they shared, the teasing. Quickly, she checked the following five years but after finding nothing interesting in the list of Downton inhabitants, she closed the book for now and dedicated the rest of her time to the letters from 1914. The year of the Great War. There was still enough time to have a look at the chronicle later.

She knew not much about the First World War; it wasn't her field of expertise. Of course they had learned about these things at school, a lot more than children nowadays probably, Viola thought, feeling that familiar anger rise. As a historian, she could never emphasize enough how important history lessons were. Not only for children. How else could you learn from mistakes previous generations made? She shook her head; this was really getting her nowhere right now and only took up time she did not have at the moment. Viola returned to the letters, written in a year that had seen many changes in the big aristocratic houses all across the country. War, back in those days, was much more patriotic, something you did not ignore because it was happening in a country so far away from your own, that you needed a map to locate it. This war happened at your doorstep, turned young, innocent men into soldiers, although they had never before considered this. It emptied the servant's halls across the country, destroyed dynasties, families of every class.

How did Downton cope with the loss? Viola really was getting closer to the interesting parts: history experienced by eye witnesses. Not politicians or historians or other historically important figures, but people that lived a normal everyday life. Things like these were special, rare, something you did not stumble upon often and especially not in this amount and detail.

She opened the first of Mr Carson's letters and took a journey back into the early summer days of 1914.

* * *

**1914**

Something was about to happen this year. He had this strange feeling that by the end of the summer, their lives would change dramatically. It was not like him to be superstitious. He disliked all of this nonsense immensely, but he could not ignore that something was in the air, causing the powerful European leaders to wait with baited breath for a catastrophe instead of trying everything in their power to avoid it. Going to London this year therefore had been a tough decision for Lord Grantham. Was it sensible to enjoy the season when the future of the country was at stake? However, it was finally Lady Sybil's year to be presented, and it was her time to be introduced to the high society of the country. Robert Crawley could not deny his youngest daughter's wishes to shine as brightly as her elder sisters had at their debutant balls.

So they had planned the season like they did every other year, said their good byes one early morning in May and travelled all the way south to the capital. Carson organised the household together with Mrs Winter as usual and plenty of dinners, balls and receptions had been held during the first four weeks. Lady Sybil had impressed a great number of young gentlemen with her bright smile and kind nature. But apart from that, nothing out of the ordinary happened, everything was business as usual. He really could not report anything interesting in his letters to Downton other that he was, probably for the first time in years, not as exhausted. He had time for relaxation and could easily catch up with the work he had not finished during the day in his breaks after the meals upstairs. In the evenings, William and Thomas had the dinners fully under control and Carson could often enjoy an hour or two to himself in his pantry before he went to bed. Time he usually spent preparing the next day or writing another of his letters that had become his lifeline while away from home.

At the end of the first week in June, he was sitting in his armchair, a glass of sherry next to him on the side table, reading what he had written earlier yet again. He had gone through his latest letter twice already. Something he did not usually do. But everything he had written sounded so formal, so impersonal this year. As if they had at one point decided to ignore their friendship and move back to being only colleagues. Carson could not remember to have done anything wrong, offended her in some way or gave her the impression that he disliked their time together at Downton. Especially after they had gotten closer every year after his return from London. Whatever it was that had caused them to distance themselves from one another, he would try everything in his power to undo it.

_Dear Mrs Hughes,_

_A month has passed already and between all the dinners, balls and formal receptions Lady Sybil has attended, nothing else has happened that is worth mentioning. I must admit that London life seems to have lost its glamour. As if everyone is holding their breath. One can overhear whispered conversations during dinner and they all revolve around the same topic: will there be a war? I hope this topic of conversation has not reached Yorkshire already. It is such a frightening thought..._

This was not going to work. What he had written was true but it was not a letter Mrs Hughes looked forward to receiving from him. He took a sip from his sherry, got out of the chair and sat down at his desk again to cross out the last three lines. Then he copied the beginning and added a new ending.

_...to know that something will happen eventually but to have no control over it in any way._

_I could not deal with losing any of our men on the battlefield although they would have bravely fought for king and country. I most likely sound like an old man afraid of change, Mrs Hughes. But maybe I am. Because the life I've known and lived has provided me with all I've ever wanted. I feel safe in it. Please do not laugh at me. I know you out of all people, understand me._

_I am looking forward to your reply these days,_

_Yours_

_C. Carson_

The letter had not necessarily improved but he felt better about it. He emptied his glass and decided to call it a night, switched of the new electric light that had been installed in the house during he Crawley's absence in the winter months, and made his way upstairs.

His bedroom was cold and dark and he dreaded the brightness of the electric light in there. Slowly and carefully he made his way over to his bed in the black night. On his nightstand he searched for the box of matches to light the old-fashioned oil lamp. He had done this so many times that he did not need to see what he was doing. Soon the soft warm, golden glow illuminated his small bedroom. Exhausted, Carson sat down on his bed and massaged his temples. Not for the first time he wished for her to be here with him. It was a longing he experienced every year with the exception that this season he was not so sure about it. Where they still the same? Was there still this trust between them? Her next letter would hopefully dissipate the doubt he was feeling about their relationship.

He undressed and climbed under the cold covers, pulling them up all the way to his chin. Carson hoped, sleep would come soon and allow him to forget his worries. But he lay awake for at least another hour before exhaustion finally took its toll.

* * *

Elsie was unsure what had happened between them since his departure to London. Somehow they had stopped sharing their thoughts and hopes in their letters. Everything she received from him sounded rather impersonal. Perhaps it was the fear of a possible war that unconsciously influenced their writing. All she hoped for, was a return to their close companionship, that feeling of knowing him inside out, the trust they had in each other and the respect. She had feared the closeness at one point, tried not to act upon it because it was something that could ruin their friendship forever along with their careers. But after all these years she had so gotten used to this other Charles Carson, the one she could see every year in his letters, that the thought of him withdrawing from her, frightened her.

She expected the postman to delivery another disappointing letter today and therefore was not in a good mood during breakfast. Add to that, Mrs Patmore had requested supplies Elsie had not planned to restock for at least another week. Their budget was tight and did not allow any extras or orders outside the plan she had meticulously set up a month ago before the start of the season. Also, Gwen had taken ill and Anna did twice the work she was supposed to. Every year she had to deal with the same problems and she sometimes wondered if it would ever be different. But Elsie took her job seriously and although there were moments when all she wanted was to quit, she knew better and remembered how much effort it had taken her to achieve the position she had now, how many years she had spent working harder than any of the other housemaids to reach the highest position a woman could have in service. The self-assurance she gained from these reflections helped her to get through exceptionally hard days. However, they failed to be comfort her at this particular Tuesday.

"Mrs Hughes, should we do the library first or start on it this afternoon?" Anna asked and Elsie was reminded that she was surrounded by other people, was not alone in the room.

She cleared her throat before she answered. "Do it this morning please. I need everyone in the great hall this afternoon. You know the drill." She was referring to the large carpets that would be rolled up with the help from the outside staff. Then carried into the backyard for cleaning. It was a mess, a dirty, dusty mess. A few of the housemaids rolled their eyes after she had uttered these words and Elsie shot a stern look in their direction. Any chatter stopped immediately. It was work that needed to be done at least once a year and they all knew it. There was no point complaining about it. Elsie would not change her mind. The maids continued with their breakfast. Elsie took another spoonful of her porridge and hoped that her thoughts would not again drift off. There was no time to worry about him right now.

On a normal day they would now sit like this until one of the bells rung, requesting a lady's maid or valet to come upstairs, asking for another pot of tea for breakfast. During the season it was Elsie who decided when breakfast was over. Today however, Anna was the one that got up and left the servant's hall first, calling a few names that resulted in several of the housemaids abandoning their porridge to follow the head housemaid upstairs. Despite her bad mood, Elsie smiled. This was one of the parts of her work that made her proud. She had trained Anna and helped her to become the person she was now. Nothing in the world could make her give this up.

The others continued to eat their breakfast in silence until the bell at the backdoor announced the arrival of a visitor. With only one short glance at one of the young boys, Elsie send Peter running along the corridor to open the door. He came back a short while later, carrying a stack of letters. "They came early today and some are from the late post from last night." He explained.

"Thank you Peter." Then she addressed the rest of the servants, still sitting around the large wooden table. "Breakfast is over. You all have your chores to do now. The mail will be distributed at luncheon."

Only one letter however remained in her personal possession. It was from London, the one she had waited for with mixed feelings.

* * *

While all around her the house came to life, with maids running along the corridor, Mrs Patmore shouting orders at her kitchen staff, Elsie felt strangely isolated from everything that was going on behind the closed door of her sitting room. She needed a moment alone to read what he had written. If it was anything like his last letters, she already knew what to expect and disappointment instead of excitement had already taken over before Elsie had even opened the envelope. She took the silver paperknife from her desk and extracted the cream coloured sheet of writing paper. His handwriting was as accurate as always and she began reading his words. The letter started exactly like she had expected but the second part managed to lift the dark cloud that had been hovering above her head all day. It was all she had hoped for, a proof that they were still friends though his words worried her. He was not usually a pessimistic person and if he ever started to lose hope in something, she was usually at his side to remind him of the good things in life. Comfort was what Mr Carson needed now and a reply that made him realize she was always on his side, no matter how often their opinions collided with each other. No matter how often they disagreed over something.

Elsie took up her pen and composed a reply, putting all her heart into it. She would put an end to the awkward correspondence they had so far shared this year.

_Dear Charles,_

_We all worry about these things at the moment. The younger staff probably not as much as you, me and Mrs Patmore. However, I cannot say that Yorkshire has not been troubled by talks about a possible conflict in Europe. I can assure you that I would feel the same about our staff and I understand why change seems like a threat to you. I promise you that it does not necessarily has to be one. I ought to know and so should you. Remember your time on stage, in the theatre; remember my life on a farm up in Scotland? Life has changed us into the people we are now. And you told me once that we all alter and that it is worth living for these alterations. But I do hope that change does not include saying good-bye to those we love. My heart would break._

_Please let us not talk about such unpleasant things any more. Tell me about London again, because every bit of it is of great interest to me. May it seem boring to you, I enjoy reading about it._

_Yours sincereley,_

_Elsie_

She tried to avoid his Christian name but felt that a reply such as the one she had just written, required the use of it to emphasize that she meant every word. Another important letter was added to her collection now and it found its place on top of her linen book for the rest of the day until she would take it upstairs with her to store it in the new wooden box she had recently bought. But for now, she continued with her days work.

* * *

Anna had done a good job. Elsie went through the room, checked for dust here and there, and examined the corners, fireplace and the shine on the freshly cleaned and polished windows. Everything was in perfect order. She could really close the door behind her now and continue with the most important task of the day which was the cleaning of the carpets. The hall was only the beginning. The next days included getting every carpet in the house off the floor and outside into the yard. A difficult and strenuous task but a necessary one. Her motivation for doing this work was usually low but his letter had again saved the day.

Elsie walked out of the library and through the hall, where everyone was already busy. "Girls, the first carpet is already in the backyard. Please set to work and let me know when you're done with it."

A few housemaids scurried past her as fast as they could without breaking into run. Elsie followed them with her eyes, appreciated the eagerness, obedience and discipline they had for the job. She had once been one of these young girls, a long time ago, in a different century, ruled by a female monarch. The thought made her smile. She had come a long way since then, lived a good life. The hopes she had for her girls where high, Elsie wanted them to be as happy in their job as she was.

"Anna," the young head housemaid had just lent a few of the boys a hand. Work she was not supposed to do. "Why don't you join Gwen for a while, keep her some company. I think you've deserved a small break."

The blonde woman curtseyed and smiled gratefully, let go of the carpet and disappeared behind the green baize door that led her upstairs to the maid's bedrooms. Elsie observed the rest of the activities in the hall until the last one of the carpets had been carried outside. Then it was her time to take a short break and have a look at the rest of the mail.

* * *

Downstairs in her sitting room everything was quiet now except from some sounds coming from the kitchen. But Mrs Patmore had at least stopped her shouting for the moment. Elsie enjoyed the peacefulness, spent a few minutes to simply sit in her armchair and relax with closed eyes. Her thoughts went back to his letter, the fear she had detected in it, hidden between the lines. As soon as he was back home, she needed to talk to him about their work, their relationship, their friendship. She needed a few answers although she was afraid to ask the questions.

With a deep sigh she opened her eyes and started going through the letters that were lying in her lap. The first two ones were for Mrs Patmore, another one for Daisy but the fourth one was addressed to Anna. The sender was Mr Bates. She turned the envelope around in her hand, back and forth. It was indeed his name. Elsie had noticed that the valet and head housemaid had formed a close band since his arrival two years ago but so far she had not thought that their friendship would turn into a possible relationship, one she considered too intimate and against the rules. She put the letter aside, decided to talk to Anna about it later.

The one following Anna's letter had her name on it. It was from William. Elsie quickly opened it, pulled out the sheet of paper to read what the lad had written. His words put another smile on her face. Despite his mother being seriously ill, William tried to enjoy his time in London, wanted to learn as much as possible. He was proud to be there. One sentence mentioned Mr Carson and how William tried to avoid any mistakes in order to lessen the butler's workload. He was being very hard on himself, Elsie thought. But perhaps he tried to forget that back at home, his family was in danger and he could not be there to help. She hoped that things would end well for the lad, that he would be spared to lose his mother too early in his young life. Elsie knew that his was a hopeless wish.

* * *

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

**What remains of the Past**

_A/N Just a tiny update before the next BIG chapter. Enjoy reading! And let me know what you think. _

* * *

**Chapter 12  
**

**2013**

Viola put aside the last letter. The words made her aware of how anxious the people had been at the brink of the Great War. Nothing was safe any more; the entirety of society was about to change forever. The old order that had formed the country for centuries was about to crumble, fall to pieces, and would never be as strong again. The aristocracy would fight one last battle.

She turned the pages of the chronicle until she had reached the year 1914. Her finger ran along the columns, checked for crossed out names. Mainly the number of the outside staff had diminished in the first year of the War. They had not lost any footmen, the valet, or the chauffeur yet. Viola skipped a few pages until she had reached August 1914, the month Great Britain declared war on Germany. A huge garden party was mentioned on August 4th and a week later, the chronicler listed the young men that had left the house to fight on the continent.

She took a moment to digest this new information. Somehow it felt as if she had known all these people personally. After all, they had lived in the same building, breathed the same air, walked the same grounds like her only one hundred years ago. She was now really looking forward to reading Charles Carson's diary. But first, there were a few more of their letters she had to have a look at.

* * *

**1914**

_Dear Mrs Hughes, _

_I am glad there are only three more weeks left for me here. London is getting unbearable. The assassination of the archduke is the only topic of conversation these days. To be honest, it frightens me to be here, in the centre of it all. Yorkshire seems like a safe place. Of course it is naïve to think that a possible war will not affect us, but Downton is not the centre of attention right now. _

_I thought about what you have mentioned in your last letter. And I would like to accept your offer. I think we both deserve a moment of peace and quiet after my return. I am looking forward to it and am certain that you will plan this with all the necessary adjustments in mind we have to make that day in order to have the house run smoothly during our absence._

_It won't be much longer now until we see each other again,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_C. Carson_

They had switched between using each other's Christians names and last names back and forth during their correspondence this year. Whenever she felt it was necessary to emphasize her loyalty towards him, he was _Charles. _And when he wanted to tell her that his letter was more than a simple summary of his experiences in London, he addressed her as _Elsie. _They would not use their given names when at Downton Abbey, but it felt good to know that the other did not mind being called by their first name.

Carson had finished this letter within a few minutes, in a short break between writing the menu cards and getting ready for luncheon. It was his simple answer to a suggestion she had made, one he had at first thought too forward to accept: a joint afternoon off, as soon as he had returned to Downton from London. That was something they had never done before. Their half days were always on different days because the house could not be without both, butler and housekeeper. But Mrs Hughes had assured him that Anna would not mind to be in charge for one afternoon. And they could choose a day where Lord Grantham and the family were out. She had not mentioned what her exact plans for the day was, but he assumed she wanted to spend some time away from the house, catch up with the news he had to tell about London. Usually they used their free evenings for such talks but why not indulge in a walk to the village together? So he had agreed, quick and without giving it any further thoughts after he had finished his letter.

He wanted their friendship to be as open and relaxed as it was during the months they were separated from each. Carson knew that at Downton it would not be easy for him to smile as often as he did when reading her words, or to address her as _Elsie, _even when she was the only person in the room. It was easier to converse with her via pen and paper than looking into her face while talking to her.

"Mr Carson, it is time to ring the gong." William stood in the doorway to his pantry, a shy and friendly smile on his lips.

"Thank you William." He sealed the envelope, stood up and almost walked past the young man before he remembered something. "Mrs Hughes sends her greetings and she hopes that everything will be alright with your mother."

"Thank you Mr Carson." Carson could see that it was difficult for William to hide his tears, but he managed.

"Off you go now. I need you upstairs in a minute." In a rare moment of affection, he touched the lad's shoulder, gave it an encouraging squeeze, before he made his way upstairs to announce luncheon.

* * *

Whatever had happened to make him agree to her little plan, it made Elsie happier than she had expected. In fact, she did not really want to know what had helped him to make up his mind. The words on the paper were enough to put a smile on her face for the rest of the day. Even another little fight with Mrs Patmore over the store cupboard key could not ruin her good mood.

"No, Mrs Patmore. There is absolutely no need to restock on spices now. It can wait until the family returns. I have had a look at the inventory and we have not run out of cinnamon and there is most definitely enough pepper."

"Remind me again, who's the person that uses these ingredients almost every day? I think it was the cook. Oh, that's me." Mrs Patmore looked up to her, red faced, hands on her hips.

"Of course you are in charge of the kitchen. No one disputes your position." The smile on her face probably annoyed the cook even more than Elsie's calmness about the whole issue. Usually the two women had the loudest discussions, fighting with words instead of fists.

"Then have a look and see for yourself. After all, _you _have got the bloody key!" Mrs Patmore stepped aside and let Elsie pass so she could open the store cupboard door. Inside she found two small boxes of black pepper and two jars of cinnamon sticks.

"Everything's in here Mrs Patmore. See for yourself." She pointed at the supplies.

The cook's face flushed even more with embarrassment. "Oh. I must have missed this." She squinted at the labels on the boxes. "I should get on with my work."

Elsie had not missed that there was obviously something wrong with Mrs Patmore. She had noticed that the cook had problems reading her ledgers, often saw her bent close over the pages. Did her eyes fail her? It was the worst thing she could imagine happening to Mrs Patmore. But how could she address the problem without hurting the cook's feelings? Something needed to be done, and soon. From the doorway she observed the bustling activities in the kitchen for a moment, watched how Daisy caught a pot Mrs Patmore had failed to put correctly on the table, noticed how the cook accidentally took the salt jar instead of the sugar one. Another kitchen maid pointed that out to her and was shouted at immediately. Elsie heaved a sigh. Perhaps Dr Clarkson could help.

"Mrs Hughes!" Gwen's loud voice coming from the backdoor startled her. There was a panic in it she had never heard before. "Come quick!"

Elsie ran along the corridor towards the door where the doctor she had just thought about, waited, his face grey and tired, holding his hat in his hands, turning it uncomfortably. The messages she had hoped would never come, had reached her now obviously, despite her prayers.

"Dr Clarkson. How can we help you?" She asked nevertheless, her voice nearly faltering because she knew the answer.

"It's Mrs Mason. She is dead."

* * *

Everyone in the house felt sorry for William and Anna had to comfort a crying Gwen after Dr Clarkson had told Elsie the bad news while the housemaid was still present, standing next to her in the doorway. The good mood they had all been in due to the warm and joyful summer weather outside was quenched immediately. News travelled fast within the house and many maids asked Elsie if what they had heard was true. She made a short announcement during dinner, let them all know that William would probably be home within the next few days.

"And please, refrain from saying how sorry you are. What he needs now are his friends and his work. Please let him know that we are also part of his family now."

Around the table heads nodded before they started with their dinner. The usual cheery chatter was replaced by an eerie silence. No one stayed in the servant's hall longer than needed and one by one the maids and hallboys, kitchen staff and scullery maids left the table to continue with their work. Elsie could understand them. They all were homesick now and then, some of them did not even have a family left, knew what it felt like to lose a father or a mother. Or worse, both parents.

Elsie hoped they would come out of this subdued mood before William arrived. The last thing the young man needed was a house that welcomed him with sad faces.

* * *

She retreated to her sitting room right after dinner was over. Some time on her own was what she needed now, a moment to sort her thoughts and to deal with the sadness that had threatened to overwhelm her in front of the others. For a few minutes Elsie just sat at her desk staring at the wall. She had hung the few pictures she had of her family there but right now she did not see them. A young, shy William appeared in front of her mind's eye on his first day at Downton. He had started as a hallboy, running errands all day, doing this and that. Whenever he had the time, he was out at the stables, admiring the strong horses. Elsie had once caught him on his way back from there when William was late for one of his chores and terribly afraid of being scolded by Mr Carson. He had always wanted to be a groom but his father had insisted of a position inside the house to that the lad could better himself, be footman or even butler one day. Elsie had talked to him for a long time that evening, had listened to the boy's stories and dreams, had made him feel welcome at the house and dispelled the fear he had of Mr Carson's wrath. From that day onwards, William always came to her whenever he was feeling lonely, homesick or when he simply wanted to tell her something he had experienced.

Elsie wiped away a single tear that had escaped from her eye. There was no time for sentimental thoughts right now. She needed to inform Mr Carson that he had to send William home immediately.

_Dear Mr Carson,_

_Today Dr Clarkson had the sad business of informing me that William's mother has passed away. Please send him home immediately so that he can be there for the funeral. I have not talked to his father yet but will do so in the coming days. _

_Let him know that we are all very sad and think of him. I have told the maids already that the lad will be home soon and that there is not need to remind him of his loss. What he needs now is to be with his family and then go back to work so that he is distracted._

_This letter was supposed to be a happy one after you have replied so positively to my suggestion. All I can say now is that I am glad you agree with me and that you do not regard it as a foolish idea. I shall make sure to plan everything so that we can enjoy the day. _

_Yours sincerely,_

_Elsie Hughes_

* * *

**2013**

Viola massaged her temples. Between worrying about a footman and organising the return of the family from London, the butler and housekeeper had obviously planned their first date. If one could call it a date. But by what she knew about courting in the early 20th century, it probably was more than just a simple half-day off that was used to run some errands. How exciting to read about a blossoming relationship. With every year that had passed the two of them got closer and closer. And the pictures Viola had seen also made more sense now. She was by now sure that the dried flower had belonged to Elsie Hughes' wedding bouquet. It was a far-fetched assumption but they were so afraid of the war and longed for each other's company so obviously that it would make sense. Instead of being alone during the uncertain war times, they had married. Perhaps some event had made them realize that it was better to share life as husband and wife instead of dying alone one day, tired and exhausted from a lifetime of work.

She decided to skip the next letters and instead start reading the diary now. Mr Carson would have shared his most intimate thoughts in the book. No one was supposed to read it, so he could trust the paper to be a silent witness of his longings, hopes and wishes.

* * *

TBC

(and I promise more Chelsie action in chapter 13!)


	13. Chapter 13

**What remains of the Past**

_A/N I promise you a BIG smile on your faces when you've finished reading this chapter :)_

* * *

**Chapter 13  
**

**2013**

Her phone started to beep with that annoying alarm just as Viola had opened the leather-bound diary. "Not now, you stupid thing! Can't be." She looked at her watch to find that the two hours had really already passed. She had promised to help her sister and as much as she wanted to, one never breaks a promise. Quickly she took a few of the letters from the 1914 stack and carefully put them into the pocket of her cardigan, made sure they did not crinkle. Claire would not always pay attention to what Viola was doing so she could sneakily read a few more of them while pretending to prepare her sister's wedding. The diary had to wait for another few hours. If she took the precious downstairs with her, Claire would most likely ask what it was all about. Viola was not ready yet to tell anyone about her discovery. It was her little secret and would remain hers for at least a few more days.

"Good-bye my precious things." She whispered, then climbed down the ladder and walked along the dark attic, her thoughts still with Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson. Did that walk they were planning happen? Had they finally found each other? Viola was so sure they were in love with one another but of course as the heads of the household it would have been impossible for them to simply get married. Such a decision needed the consent of Lord Grantham. Perhaps her father knew more about it? He grew up still surrounded by a great number of servants, including housekeeper and butler. And a story about a couple that had secretly married surely was the best gossip the house had ever seen.

Viola opened the attic door, stepped out into the corridor and was still deeply lost in her thoughts when she heard a noise coming from one of the old servant's bedrooms. One of the doors was wide open. Who else was up here and why? No one needed to find out that she had been hiding up here for the last few days. Slowly, without making any noise, Viola approached the open door and looked around the corner. Her sister was rummaging through an old trunk, throwing things out on the floor, obviously searching for something.

"Claire?" Why of all people her? Viola needed to find a good excuse immediately.

"Vi? Wow, you scared me for a second." Her hair was dishevelled and for once Claire Crawley did not look like she had jumped out of a high gloss fashion magazine. "What are you doing here?"

She had to think fast, make something up. "I was looking for you and, " she searched for a good excuse, "a maid saw you running upstairs." Viola hoped her sister would believe this rather bad lie.

"Well, I was waiting for you and when you didn't turn up downstairs I decided to have a look at these boxes and cupboards and stuff." She pointed at the various items in the room. Viola had a look around. There were several pieces of furniture crammed inside the small bedroom, all apparently full with forgotten things. She had to check what the sign outside on the door said, had to know if this might have once been Elsie Hughes' room.

"Yes, I set my alarm and it just went off. Must've gotten the time wrong. Are you hoping to find some decorations up here?" Viola slowly backed off, careful not to attract her sister's attention.

"I remembered that we used to come up here sometimes when we were still kids and I am sure we'll find some nice things here that are actually genuinely Victorian." Claire extracted an old nightgown from the large trunk. "Look at this." She broke out in laughter. "It's hilarious. It's huge!"

Viola had already reached the doorway and grinned at her sister. "Oh, yes it is. But don't you already have a dress?"

Claire's loud laughter filled the room now and she gasped for air. "Oh, Vi. Sometimes you can be really funny. By the way, where are you going?"

She knew she could not simply sneak out without her sister noticing it. With a lopsided grin on her face, Viola had to make up another lie. "I just wanted to check what is actually stored in this room. You know that all the doors have little signs? Perhaps there is one that is full of candelabra and ornaments." She winked at Claire, then used the moment her sister needed to consider the suggestion to slip outside and study the sign. It only said: furniture and linen, which matched what she had so far seen inside. The really interesting thing was that this was the bedroom on the other side of the dividing door, the one she believed had indeed been the housekeeper's one a long time ago. Suddenly the prospect of being locked in here with her sister for at least a few more hours was not that dreadful.

She got back inside and opened the drawers from one of the cupboards, curious about everything she would find in there.

* * *

**1914**

William was standing in the middle of his room, silent tears streaming down his face. He did not move, did not say a single word. Just stared at the ground in front of him. Carson was unsure what he could do to comfort the lad. He would most certainly not give him a hug. That would have been a too intimate gesture. Mrs Hughes might have reached out and comforted the young man like this but he, as his superior, could not allow such a sentimental thing.

"You are free to go now William. Do not worry about your work here. His Lordship knows about your loss and is very sorry." The words sounded so meaningless. They were only empty phrases not meant to heal a broken heart.

William wiped away some of his tears with the back of his hand. "I am sorry Mr Carson," he mumbled.

Carson was close to reach out and touch the lad's shoulder, tell him that everything would be fine, that he still had his father, his work and the people at Downton. They were also part of his family now. He was not alone. "There is not need to be sorry, William. You have lost the most important person in your life."

The young man looked up and into Carson's face, the eyes red rimmed from crying. "I still have my father, don't I?"

"Yes, you have." He tried to smile encouragingly. "And always remember that we are your family too." Carson took a step forward now, moved closer to where William was standing. "Mrs Hughes will take care of you as soon as you have arrived."

He nodded, closed his eyes for a second to stop his tears from falling. "Thank you again Mr Carson. For everything."

Before Carson noticed what he was doing, his hand rested on William's shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. He could not simply let him walk out of the room without doing at least this. Usually he would not let his feelings take control of such a situation, had always managed to hold back, be just but emotionless in his decisions. It was necessary to handle these things professionally otherwise the butler stood to lose the respect of those working for him. "Let me know when you've arrived."

They young man smiled weakly and left the butler's pantry leaving Carson behind, unsure of what to do next. For a while he simply stood there, staring into the empty corridor outside his door. He remembered the day his mother had died, at home, alone in her bed. He had never truly forgiven himself that he had not been there to say to good-bye. But how could he have known that he would never see her again?

"Mr Carson, are you alright?" It was Mrs Winter's voice that came out of nowhere and woke him from his reverie.

"Yes, thank you. I've just told William the sad news. He is packing now and will take the next possible train home to Yorkshire." He straightened his back, banished all the sentimental thoughts and memories for now. Later, when he had time for himself, he might revisit them again. There was still a letter he had to answer and she would understand, never judge him.

* * *

_Dear Mrs Hughes,_

_William is on his way home. He has been very strong but of course his loss is indescribable. He may need your support as soon as he is back at Downton. I wish I could have given him more comfort but you know me, Mrs Hughes, I am not good at these things at all. _

_Where his work is concerned I thought he could lend you a helping hand with the inventory of the wine cellar. You know that I routinely take care of it directly after my return but it will be a good practice for him. He can also assist you with the annual garden party if you do not mind. We both know that the best distraction is work._

_I will return in a fortnight, earlier than usual to prepare a few things before the family comes back from London. Perhaps we can have our half-days then? It would not disturb the daily routine then. _

_Please give my regards and deepest condolences to Mr Mason. _

_Yours sincerely,_

_C. Carson_

The decision to leave London earlier had come out of nowhere. Normally he was with the family until two days before their departure. It was enough time to prepare the house, unpack the bags and organise the following days. However, this year he felt that some people, especially William and Mrs Hughes, could benefit from his presence at Downton before things went back to normal.

He had thought about his mother while writing his reply. How often had she reminded him that he had only this one life, could only walk a path once before it led him to a different one, a new fork in the road. Each had offered him a choice, some he had accepted, others he had ignored. Sometimes he had wished to walk back and make up for the mistakes he had made. But that was impossible. Now, when he had existed on this earth for almost sixty years, he finally was brave enough to also take the fork in the road that had frightened him years ago. He made decisions led by his heart instead of by reason. Returning to Downton earlier than planned was one of them. Propriety told him he should not act upon his heart. It was not what a dutiful butler would do, abandon the family he served because he felt that he was needed elsewhere. But for once, Carson did not care.

* * *

She waited impatiently for the train to arrive. Picking up other servant's from the train station was not part of her duties but Elsie felt that it would be a comfort to William to know that she cared about him. Usually Mr Mason always waited for his son's arrival but one could not expect the man to be here today.

Elsie stared at the large clock. The hands moved too slowly for her liking. Surely it was already time for the train to arrive but she could not even see the smoke from the engine in the distance. Her fingers tapped a nervous rhythm on the small purse she was holding in her lap. In her mind she thought about the things she could say to William. Words of comfort of course but also things that might cheer him up a bit. Elsie was not sure how to deal with the situation. The young man was so close to her, closer than any of the other servants, except maybe for Anna, had ever been. She had let it happen, had allowed her heart to have maternal feelings for him. As the professional housekeeper she had been for years, Elsie knew that once she had crossed that line there was no way back out of it. It was regarded as a weakness among her profession.

In the distance, the train came into view. Slowly the engine approached the station, pulling several coaches behind it. Patiently Elsie waited for the train to stop. The doors of the compartments opened and one by one the first class travellers stepped onto the platform, followed by second and third class. At the rear of the train she saw William head above the others. Looking out for someone to greet him. Elsie lifted her hand across her head and waved until she knew she had the lad's attention.

"William!" She shouted his name and slowly the young man approached her, his small suitcase in his left hand.

"Mrs Hughes. It is good to see you." Even over all the noise surrounding them, Elsie could hear that his voice was sad.

"I thought it would be nice to see a familiar face."

"Thank you." He held out his hand and she took it both of hers and squeezed it affectionately.

"There is a carriage waiting for you to bring you home to your father." She pointed at the station building and slowly the two of them made their way over to where the wagon waited.

* * *

**2013**

"Viola?" Claire touched her shoulder and Viola almost threw away the letter she was holding. "Are you still there?"

"What? Oh yes of course." Quickly she folded the paper and let it slip back into her pocket, hoping that Claire had not seen it.

"Because I have called your name at least three times and you weren't even looking my way," her sister teased. "What is so exciting about a drawer full of…," Claire took a closer look, "old linen?"

Viola stared at the items before her. Claire was right. After she had opened the second drawer and it still did not contain anything interesting other than more handkerchiefs, nightgowns, bedsheets and cloths, she remembered what was hidden in her pocket. Viola had gotten lost in Charles Carson's words again while pretending to study the contents of an old piece of furniture.

"Nothing I suppose. I must have been daydreaming." She shrugged her shoulders. "But what have you found?"

On the floor, Claire had spread out a beautiful collection of old linen napkins with the family crest on them. Some were a bit stained but altogether they looked well preserved. "Look at these! Aren't they perfect for the table decoration? They need to see a washing machine of course. Can't understand how these ended up here."

Many things had apparently found their final resting places either her or in the attic. If Claire knew what Viola had found and how many more things were possibly hidden in the other rooms, she would never leave her alone again. So Viola did not answer her sister's question. "I think they would look lovely. Maybe we can find some more. You have a few more guest than," she quickly counted the napkins, "20 I guess."

"Perhaps if you'd stop daydreaming we can really find a few more." Claire turned around once again and continued rummaging through the old trunk.

Viola on the other hand had very little interest in napkins but perhaps she should take a closer look at the things right in front of her. A diary hidden in the back of a drawer might have only been the beginning.

With both hands she lifted the old bedsheets out of the drawer and put them on the ground. A second pile followed, and a third. Nothing was hidden underneath them. Perhaps something had slipped between the sheets? Viola searched them thoroughly, unsuccessfully. Not a single sheet of paper had slipped between them, not a postcard or a small note. She tried the next drawer, the old nightgowns and handkerchiefs. Some of them were beautifully embroidered. Viola had a closer look, hoped to find the initials EH or CC amongst them. Again she had no luck. But behind her, Claire let out an excited little scream.

"Look what I've found!" She held up a beautiful black book that must have been hidden somewhere in the depths of the old trunk. "Jane Eyre." Claire read aloud. "I wonder who it belonged to. All the books are down in the library. Maybe some servant had stolen this copy." Her voice sounded cold. "Like mom always said: never trust them."

Viola's eyes widened and she reached out to take the book from her sister. "Can I have a look at it please?"

"Why? It's just a book. I will take it downstairs and put it back where it belongs."

"You know how much I love old books Claire." She still held out her hand, waiting for her sister to give her the book.

"Alright. But don't forget to put it back on the shelf later." Claire let go of it and Viola immediately turned around to have a look at her new treasure in private. This certainly was Elsie Hughes's copy of _Jane Eyre, _the one Mr Carson had sent her from London. With trembling hands she open the book. In the top left corner a name was written with pencil. _E Hughes._ Viola tried not to jump with joy. Carefully she turned the pages until she stumbled upon a little card in his handwriting. _For your ever growing bookshelf. _It looked frail and must have been used many times as a bookmark. She turned it around and her heart stopped for a split second. _Happy anniversary darling. _

* * *

**1914**

He stood in front of the back door, his hand almost touching the wood, ready to knock. Carson was nervous, for the first time in decades coming back home to Downton felt like starting a new chapter of a book that had yet to be written. And he would be the author. His knuckles touched the wood. He knocked three times then waited for someone to open the door for him. From inside the house, someone was approaching the door. He could here footsteps on the stone floor, not hers but from some maid.

The door was opened and Anna smiled up at him. "Welcome home Mr Carson."

"Thank you Anna." Everything looked, smelled and felt the same. There was some noisy chatter coming from the kitchen, maids were running in and out of the servant's hall. Finally he was back where he belonged. "I hope everything here is still as it should be?"

"Of course Mr Carson." She winked at him then excused herself to continue with her work.

Carson carried his suitcase along the corridor towards his room. The door was ajar and he pushed it open using his right hand, pleasantly surprised to find her standing in front of his desk.

"Welcome home, Mr Carson." Her smile was simply beautiful and he must have stared at her for a while because Mrs Hughes started to laugh out loud at one point. "I said, welcome home."

"Excuse my manners. It's good to see you Mrs Hughes." He put down the suitcase and took a step forward, closer to where she was standing. "I hope my early return did not cause too much trouble?"

She followed his lead and also stepped forward. "Not at all Mr Carson, not at all. We're glad to have you back."

"Good." His throat was a bit dry all of a sudden. After so many seasons, so many returns from London, he had never experienced a welcome such as this. Usually they would simply great each other, then continue with their work. Sometimes the evenings offered them a bit of free time, a glass of wine and a nice conversation about the last three months. But she had never waited in his pantry for his return. The smile on her face did not fade and he could not take his eyes off her until she spoke again, her voice a whisper at first but growing stronger with every word she spoke.

"Luncheon will be ready in a few minutes. I guess you are hungry and exhausted from the long journey?"

He cleared his throat. "Yes, thank you. Of course I am."

* * *

It was good to have him back next to her at the large table in the servant's hall. This was where he belonged, at her left side, watching over all of them. She stole a glance or two at him while they ate their stew and could feel his eyes on her whenever she was not looking.

"Was London a success this year? Despite the worries?" She asked, to make some conversation. The room was too quiet for her liking, the whispered chatter of the maids and young men was so faint today.

"I think it was. It felt a bit odd to celebrate when there were so many conflicts brooding on the continent. Are there any news I might have missed while travelling here?" He caught her eye and Elsie just looked at him for a moment. She had missed his face, the warm eyes, the deep voice more than she was allowed to say.

"No, the newspaper had nothing new to report this morning. I hope this ends well although I cannot say how."

He nodded his head, took another spoonful of his stew and continued eating in silence until William suddenly asked a question. Elsie had seen him sit down for luncheon but had not expected him to talk. The lad had been very quiet the last few days after the funeral. He helped wherever he could, made himself useful and had assisted her with many tasks Mr Carson usually took care of right after his return, like the inventory of the wine cellar. The workload for the butler had been significantly diminished. Work had indeed distracted William a bit. But Elsie could see and feel how hurt and lost he was.

"Mr Carson, do you think there will be a war?"

Elsie tensed up a bit. They had talked about this topic often during his time in London. Their letters were full of speculations about the European conflicts and if they would lead Great Britain into a war. If such a thing really happened, it meant that they would lose William, and probably Thomas too. Perhaps also his Lordship would be sent to fight on the continent. She did not want to think about it.

"I cannot say William. I hope there won't be. Or that at least our country will keep out of it."

She hoped for the same and as if Mr Carson had sensed how uncomfortable she was by only thinking about this topic, she suddenly felt how his leg touched her knee underneath the table. This was only a small gesture, a little bit of comfort given by a simple, innocent touch. It might have been by accident but he had never done this before. Elsie paused her eating for a moment, moved her leg a bit to find out if he would back away. He did not instead continued his conversation with William as if nothing had happened.

"If there is a war Mr Carson, I will have to fight, won't I?" All heads went around and stared at William, suddenly realizing what all this talk they had overheard in the last few weeks was really about.

"Yes, I am afraid so. But do not waste your thoughts on it now. So far nothing has happened."

* * *

**2013**

"VIOLA!" Claire shouted right next to her ear. "You were doing it again! Stop daydreaming!"

Viola jerked at her sister's high-pitched voice. Her imagination had ran riot for a moment after she had read the small text on the back of the little card in the book. _Happy anniversary, darling._ This was her proof but if she wanted to keep her secret for a while longer, she really had to pay more attention now. Or her sister would not let her leave the room any time soon until Viola had given Claire a very good explanation why she was so absentminded today.

"Sorry." She grinned at Claire. "Historians disease."

Her sister groaned and shook her head. "You're crazy. Have you found some more napkins?"

Viola stared into the empty drawer before her. "No. Not a single one. Only nightgowns. But there is still one more drawer to be emptied. And we have a few other things over there."

"Then let's get to work."

Her motivation to rifle through more old linen was not high but the thought of finding new treasures, kept Viola going. But the last drawer contained things as boring as the other two. More white cloth, more embroidered nightgowns, not a single one displaying the initials EH or EC. Still, Viola refused to give up hope and checked everything she had put on the floor very thoroughly for a second time. Maybe she had overlooked something, had not paid enough attention. She did not want Claire to make all the discoveries today. One nightgown after the other was stacked back into one empty drawer, separated from the others. She found nothing, not a single thing that pointed towards Elsie Hughes or Charles Carson. Frustrated but now even more challenged, Viola started examining the next piece of furniture. It was another large trunk, one that had possibly never left this room. The polished dark wood and the brass fittings made it a very precious piece of furniture. To her surprise, the lid opened easily although it was rather heavy. Viola leaned it against the wall, hoped it would not fall down on her head while she searched its contents for any items that might be of interest to her, and of course be useful for Claire's wedding.

"Is there some light in here?" She could not see a single thing. Everything around her was black. Her hands felt some fabric, books, pieces made out of metal, porcelain cups. Viola wanted to see them, not only pull out things by chance.

"Try the switch by the door."

Of course Claire would not help her, always delegated every bit of work. So Viola left the trunk behind for a moment to switch on the electric light. Additionally to that, she opened the curtains that half covered the dirty windows. When she again looked at the contents of the trunk, now visible to her eyes by the bright light of the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling, Viola had problems suppressing what she liked to call a happy dance. She pressed her left hand over her mouth to muffle the tiny scream that escaped from it.

A picture frame with an old black and white photograph. Husband and wife, her sitting, him standing next to her. She held a small flower bouquet and smiled into the camera, the wedding ring gleaming on her left hand. Elsie Carson née, Hughes and her husband Charles Carson stared back at Viola from the depth of the old trunk. She had been right. Butler and housekeeper had married at one point, broken the rules, probably kept it secret for a long time. Carefully she put the picture aside and started to examine the other things lying around it.

* * *

**1914**

"It has been a long day." He sat down in his old armchair, opposite from her, heaving a sigh of relief. "I would not mind sleeping in tomorrow morning."

"If only we could." She took a sip from the dark red wine he had found in the depths of the wine cellar earlier.

"Perhaps we can have our day off tomorrow?" It was only a suggestion. As much as he hoped that they could find a moment to leave the house together the next day, it was highly unlikely. He had just returned from London, the family would still spent another week in London, but that did not mean there was no work to be done, no preparations he had to think about.

The smile she offered him over the rim of the glass touched something deep inside him. A feeling he had suppressed for decades threatened to awake again. Carson was not sure how to deal with it now and if he wanted to go down this path a second time but they had already made a start. The only way was forward now.

"I'll see what I can do. It will only be a few hours in the afternoon."

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Good." Another sip, another of her coy glances directed at him. He drank half of his wine in one go to avoid more conversation for a moment.

"William has finished the inventory. He did it all on his own." Elsie set down her glass, folded her hands in her lap and the smile on her face mesmerized him. Perhaps it was the wine, the long time he had spent on the train, the lack of sleep but everything she did suddenly felt very different, exaggerated even. They had gone through almost two dozen of London seasons together, she managing the household at Downton Abbey, he away in London. His return had always been the same, year after year. They talked a bit about his journey, the things that had happened in London, exchanged the newest gossip. After that, they immediately returned to their daily routine as if he had never been away. There were of course a few exceptions every now and then. Like her birthday, which they celebrated since the day he had given her the brooch. Apart from that, nothing had really changed in their routine. Why was today so special?

"Mr Carson?"

He had heard what she had said but apparently forgot to show any reaction. "He can be very proud of himself. I hope he will get over his loss."

"He has to. We've all been through this, haven't we? It was not easy but in the end there was nothing we could have done to avoid it."

True words. He emptied his glass, enjoying the taste of the wine, the liquid running down his throat. "The work will help him."

"I think it already has."

A moment of silence was shared between them. His thoughts wandered back to the morning he had found out that his mother had passed away. Not a pleasant memory, still after all these years, but one he had to make peace with eventually.

"So, what about tomorrow?"

"Consider it done, Mr Carson." She gave him the most beautiful smile he had ever seen on her face. "Now, can I have some more wine, please?"

* * *

The sun shone brightly through the small window in her bedroom the next morning, warming her face in a very pleasant way. Summer was her favourite time of the year with all the flowers in bloom, adding a blaze of colours to the landscape; the sunny weather that lifted everyone's spirits and the concerts the birds gave every morning. Today another wonderful thing would be added to her collection of summer memories: a half-day off spent with the person she considered as the most important in her life.

Elsie dressed herself quickly, chose a flowery blouse and a dark blue skirt instead of her daily black housekeeper attire. The outfit was more appropriate for a walk down into the village. Besides, she seldom had the opportunity to dress up and today was the perfect occasion to live a little. The brooch Mr Carson had gave her as a birthday gift a while ago completed her outfit.

Her fingertips ghosted over the engraving on the back of it. She was proud of owning this small piece of jewellery and she wore it with respect and on special days only. Like her birthday, or an anniversary, sometimes to church, but never on her black dress. It was a the most expensive gift she had ever received and meant so much more to her than Mr Carson could possibly imagine.

She checked her appearance in the small mirror again before opening the door and making her way downstairs. The early risers, scullery maids, some housemaids and the rest of the kitchen staff already crowded the servant's hall, preparing breakfast. Elsie only had a quick look around to make sure everything was running smoothly and was taken care of. Anna would take over after breakfast when she and Mr Carson took the liberty to leave the house together for a few hours. She could not remember to have done this before. One of them was always present, except of course during the summer months when the London season required his attention. Spending a day together was their reward for working hard during that time.

He was already in his pantry, sitting at his desk, a ledger open in front of him. The lines on his forehead showed his concentration on whatever he was reading there. Elsie stood in the doorway for a moment and observed him from afar before she knocked.

"Good morning Mr Carson. I see you are already busy."

He looked up from the pages and his mouth slightly opened but no words came out. She knew that her unfamiliar outfit would have at least some kind of effect on him. Although it was not the first time he had seen her like this.

"Good morning to you too. May I say that you look really lovely today."

Elsie tried hard not to blush. Compliments were a rare treat. "Only today?" The teasing words were out before she could even think of a different answer.

"That is an unfair question Mrs Hughes." He just laughed and got up from behind his desk. "So, are we ready?"

"I think we are." She stepped inside the room and met him halfway. "Anna takes care of everything as soon as we've finished breakfast."

"I am looking forward to it."

* * *

The warm summer breeze on her face took all her worries away for the time being. His hand covering hers in the crook of his arm, allowing her to walk close next to him, gave her comfort. He had decided not to walk towards the village but to take a stroll across the gardens once more, reminding her of that late walk they had shared ages ago.

"Doesn't it feel strange to enjoy a bit of free-time outside the house?" She looked up to him, tried to catch his eyes.

"I have to admit that it does, Elsie." His face looked serious when he said her given name out loud for the first time in years. "I am still not sure how you managed to convince me."

All she had heard was her name from his lips. Elsie knew he did not like using it, feared he would demote her by ignoring her rightfully earned title. Had someone else called her by her Christian name, she would have reminded the person that he had no right to do so. But she had allowed him this privilege he never made use of. Only a few letters were addressed to Elsie instead of Mrs Hughes and she cherished these more than the rest of them.

"I am not sure either." She stopped walking. "Are you enjoying it?"

He turned around to face her, letting go of her arm, that he had held securely for the last thirty minutes. Instead, Carson took now hold of her hand, and a previously unknown nervousness took hold of her.

"Very much." That was all he said and the next minutes were filled with silence between them. Not one of the awkward kind you desperately wanted to avoid. It felt good to not have to say a word right now. Only looking into his eyes was enough. She saw so many different things in them. Kindness, fear, uncertainty, and something else she had never discovered in them before.

"Perhaps we should walk on?" He suddenly said, ending the moment between them.

She agreed although she could have stood there forever. Elsie knew now that something had changed between them she had thought was impossible.

* * *

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N A very short update for you to read! Please let me know what you think. And thank you for your reviews so far!_

* * *

**Chapter 14**

**2013**

How did this trunk end up in this room? If they had been married after all, they must have shared a cottage on the grounds, some place were they could live after retiring from their jobs. But this thing looked so heavy, even without the things it contained, that she could not imagine someone carrying it all the way upstairs to this room. All the stairs, the narrow corners, the many doorways were additional obstacles. It was just another question for her father and she hoped that he could give her at least some answers that explained the many inconsistencies.

Viola had made a little space in one corner of the trunk where she carefully collected all the items she wanted to take with her to the attic later. The picture frame was one of them, along with a few more books. The cups and other pieces of china would stay down here. She imagined them on the shelves in Mrs Hughes sitting room. Precious pieces, old, delicate, inherited from her mother, perhaps even her grandmother. A few of them gifts or purchases she had made in town to complete a set. Viola touched them only with the tips of her fingers, too afraid to destroy them by accident. She unfolded a large quilted throw and put most of the china in it, covered the cups and saucers and then continued her inventory.

All the pieces she found must have been part of Elsie Hughes's belongings. Items she had used to decorate her room with and later the cottage she shared with Mr Carson. Viola could picture a medium sized settee in front of a fireplace, covered with the old throw. Some of the little porcelain figurines sitting on the mantlepiece. The collection of books stood next to a small bureau covered with several pieces of mail, two fountain pens and a large inkbottle. It was such a wonderful picture that Viola wished she had some photographs of it. In a time where photography was still very expensive such a waste of money would not have happened. Especially not when the owners of the house had lived frugal for so many years.

At the bottom of the trunk her hands stumbled upon another framed picture and something silver, glittering in the sunlight now streaming through the window. The picture showed a small cottage with a beautiful rose garden in the front. Perhaps she had misjudged the couple, she thought smiling. And what was this silver thing in her hands? It looked like a little clip, a wonderful art nouveau piece with three small holes at the bottom. The surface was worn, very smooth and Viola tried to figure out what the use of the little clip was. She examined it more thoroughly until it finally hit her. The housekeeper wore it on her hip, attached the keys to it, the jingling sound that echoed all through the house when she was making her rounds. Viola slipped it into the pocket of her cardigan, where it joined the letters. She did not know why, but she felt strangely attached to this small piece of everyday jewellery. Like a child who loves a shiny but worthless gemstone bought from pocket money at a village fair. The emotional value was much higher than the actual cost.

"Claire, there's nothing we need in here. Have you found anything else?" She closed the trunk and hoped her sister would not insist on opening it again to have a look at it herself.

"A few more napkins and some tablecloths. Do you think we can get these cleaned?" She held up a piece of linen that had been white at one point but was now grey with dust.

"Sure." Viola shrugged her shoulders. "If they could clean it one hundred years ago there's a way to do it today, too."

"What about you? Anything interesting in that trunk? You spent a long time rummaging through it."

"Nothing. Only more old pieces of cloths, most of them so dirty and ripped apart that you can only use them as cleaning rags." Again, Viola was telling a lie and hoped she would not blush.

"Then we're done I guess. Thanks little sister for your help." Claire gave her a hug, a very rare thing for her to do. Viola hesitated a moment before she also put her arms around her sister. "Now, you're free to go. Back to your work, I think?"

"Yeah, I still have a lot of research to do." At least this time she did not have to tell a lie.

* * *

As soon as Claire had left the room and was out of sight, Viola sneaked back into Elsie Hughes's former bedroom to take the wedding photo out of its hiding place. She felt a bit like an intruder this time, knowing that she had made a chaos of a perfectly packed trunk. Still, it was for the best. Viola wanted the two servants to be remembered as the wonderful, caring people they had been. Now they were only two names in a huge chronicle, easily exchangeable with others that had followed them after their retirement.

She put the frame underneath her cardigan, switched off the light and closed the door behind her. A look at her watch told her that she still had one hour before her mother expected her downstairs again for dinner. Maybe she should skip that, but then, her father would be there and she needed answers to the questions she had.

* * *

Back in the attic, she placed the wedding photo next to the one from the 1920s. Both now stared back at her, waiting for Viola to discover the rest of their secret. The two letters in her pocket wandered back onto the 1914 stack. It was finally time for her to read the diary.

With slightly trembling hands she opened it and her fingers reverently touched the words written in blue ink on the first page. She liked Mr Carson's handwriting. It was so clear and regular, easy to read because he did not decorate his letters much. There was no flourish on his C's or E's, or any other capital letters. The only time Viola had seen his script looking really elegant was when he wrote Elsie Hughes's name. There was always a little twirl at the 'g' in her last name and the 'E' was much larger than the rest of his capitals. He enjoyed writing her name, obviously took great care in making it look very nice so that it stood out against the other words.

Viola began reading. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest, she could feel and hear it while her eyes scanned each word with the greatest care. She did not want to miss something.

_October 2__nd__ 1914_

_We are at war now for almost two months but it feels like much longer. Some say that it will all be over by Christmas. But I've seen the look on the young men's faces when they said their good-byes before crossing the channel to fight in France. They do not want it to be over too soon. Not before they have proven king and country how brave they are. I wish I hadn't seen that look. We have lost 3 gardeners, a few of the farm boys and a groom to the army already. I wonder how many more will follow. _

_I try to keep the house running as usual. Nothing should show that we are afraid of the battles in France. But if it is already difficult after two months, what will happen if the war goes on for years? I dare not think about it. Keeping up standards is the only thing I can do now, even with less staff. Somehow it will work out. Although she disagrees with me. Every day she tells me that we cannot go on as if things are still normal. Of course I disagree. Especially now it is important to stay strong and support the ones fighting for us, showing them that we take care of things back home, making sure that when they return they come back to a place that has not changed. I think the young men need to know this, it will give them hope. _

_We have discussed this tonight over a glass of wine. And I almost yelled at her. I could see by the look on her face how much I have hurt her. It broke my heart. She left my pantry immediately afterwards and now I am sitting here and trying to come up with an excuse. But it is all words, meaningless things. _

* * *

**1914**

Since the day Lord Grantham had made the announcement, Mr Carson had changed. He was up earlier than anyone else, went to bed when she had long gone up. Often she only saw him during their meals where they hardly talked. Not even their evenings together were enjoyable any more. All he talked about and cared for was the house, the standards he had to keep up while young men fought a useless war far away from their homes. What did it matter if they had one house party less, not the same amount of bottles of his lordship's favourite French wine in the cellar? There were things so much more important right now than keeping up appearances. She was worried about him but was not sure how to tell him. Elsie had tried tonight, during one of the rare evenings they had spent together over a glass of wine. She needed him to see that all this work would not change anything. It would not end the war or help the men in the trenches win the war. He had almost yelled at her and it had been too much for both of them. Where was the gentle man she had come to admire for his sense of duty but also for his ability to not take everything too seriously? Angry with him and herself she had gone to bed but then could not find sleep at all.

She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to every sound the house made around her. The creaking and moaning of the wood, a breeze shook the trees outside, somewhere an owl was hooting in the distance, a door opened and was shut carefully with a almost inaudible click, footsteps on the corridor, approaching her room but stopping just before the dividing door. Elsie sat up in her bed. He had finally come upstairs. She listened to the sounds he made, the door to his bedroom opened, the typical faint creaking of the hinges she knew so well. It was shut again and she heard his footsteps on the wooden floorboards. Every sound evoked an image in her head, things she pictured him doing every night but had never seen with her own eyes.

After a while, she heard how he went to bed, switched off the small lamp on his nightstand. Then everything was silent again until she heard him tossing and turning. She turned to lie on her side, the right side of her face pressed into her pillow, eyes closed. But Elsie could still hear him. A loud irritated sigh penetrated the thin wall that separated them. Maybe he had the same thoughts, perhaps he was worried too and all the work he tried to shoulder was his way of distracting himself from what was really happening. She would give him another chance, would try to talk to him in the morning. There had to be a way to take care of him and be his friend at the same time without irritating him.

* * *

_October 5__th__ 1914_

_We talked. All evening. She is worried about me but she should not be. There are more important things to worry about at the moment. The house, the war, the safety of our men. I tried to understand her, I really did. This time I managed to stay calm. We did not argue tonight. But something has changed between us and I wish we could go back to the days when this world was still a predictable one. Elsie you do not know what you mean to me._

He put down his pen and closed the book. It was a silly idea to keep a diary again. The last time he had done this was ages ago, decades, when he was still only a footman and madly in love with one of the housemaids. And because he had sworn to never again lose his heart to a woman since it ended in a disaster the last time he tried, a diary was the only thing that could help him sort his thoughts. As long as he was able to write down his feelings, he didn't act on them. Strangely enough it had worked. The books no longer existed. Carson had thrown them away into the fire one night when the maid had left Downton to marry a young farmer from Ripon. His heart had been broken a second time.

Why he had started a new diary now was a mystery to him. Perhaps it was because of the war, or the fact that there weren't any more letters to write to her. He was not in love. Wasn't he?

The diary was locked into the bottom drawer of his desk. It had been another long and tiring day again. She wanted him to slow down, had so numerous times during the day, whenever they had met on a staircase, a corridor or during their meals. He had not felt tired or exhausted at all but now, at the end of the day, his body ached. She had been right, of course, like so many times before. But he could not delegate his work to any one with only one footman left and William would not stay at Downton forever. He was young and healthy. They would make him join the army sooner or later. Carson massaged the bridge of his nose. He had no choice but to accept the extra work now.

"Will you sleep down here tonight?" She stood in the doorway, observing him like she had done so many times before.

"I thought you had gone up already?" He rose from his chair. "It's rather late."

"I've waited for you for the last three days." She crossed her arms and tilted her head to one side. "Charles, you can't do it all on your own."

She had not said his name for a few months; he had not read it since her last letters from London. It felt strange to hear her use it now, as if she wanted to emphasize what she had said earlier. _You must slow down. _

"But I have to. You know that we are one footman short already." He still stood behind his desk, his hands playing with the pen.

"I know that. We have discussed this a few times already. It can't be changed now. But that does not mean you can't accept any help."

"There will be no maids in the dining room." Earlier he had made this very clear now his voice was much weaker, not that stern anymore.

She rolled her eyes and moved to stand in front of his desk. "Then train one of the young hallboys. They won't send them to war."

"Elsie, you don't understand…," he started, wanted to explain to her that it would take at least a few months until he had trained one of the boys. They could not simply walk into the dining room and do a job Thomas had taken two years to learn. But he was unable to finish the sentence.

"Oh but I do." Her voice was cold, nothing of the warmth from earlier was left in it. Her bottom lip was quivering and he reached out to touch her arm but she took a step back, away from his desk. "Don't. We can't go on like this." She turned around and left.

He could hear how she climbed the stairs; the keys on her hips jingled angrily but the sound grew fainter with every step she took. Carson had again made a mess of things although he had desperately tried to not argue with her again.

* * *

TBC

thank you for reading!


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N Well here comes the thing you've been waiting for! Enjoy it! And I really had trouble writing this... woah. It's not easy for me to write something romantic, not angsty :)_

* * *

**Chapter 15**

**1914**

Another sleepless night awaited her and yet she had thought that he had finally accepted her help, the suggestions she had made. He had not fought her tonight, until now. Why was this man so stubborn? Elsie wiped away a single angry tear that had managed to escape from her eye. There was still one more flight of stairs she had to climb before she was back in the safety of her room. No one should see her like this, crying over this man she held so dear but who had hurt her so much in the last few weeks. She paused for a moment to catch her breath and to calm down a bit. It did not really work. The anger she had suppressed for the last few days threatened to escape, and no matter how much she tried to ignore it, it was a lost battle. More tears ran down her cheeks. Elsie leaned against the wall, hid in the shadows and cried silently. This was not her; this was not the strong woman that was responsible for one of the largest households in the country, the farm girl from Scotland who had worked so hard to become housekeeper. The woman hidden in the darkness was the four-year-old girl afraid of the dark, feared of rejection and not being loved by anyone. She had left this part of her past behind so many years ago.

"Elsie?"

She almost jumped at the sound of his voice. How could he have come up here unnoticed by her? Hastily she wiped away her tears but it was already too late. The shadows could not disguise her read cheeks and eyes. He should never have seen her like this, fragile, hurt, not at all the woman he thought he knew so well.

"It's my fault, isn't it?" He stood before her, only an arm's length away. "I am sorry."

* * *

He wanted to reach out, touch her, comfort her like she had done so many times before. With William, Anna, Gwen. But he did not know how. Carson could impossibly embrace her or wipe away the last of her tears. It was different to express his feelings with words. When writing he had the chance to cross out sentences that were too personal. He could think about the correct words for minutes before he put them to paper.

"You should go to bed." She said, turning her head away from him.

"We both should." A hug was impossible but he could take her hand. Tentatively he touched her wrist with his fingertips and when she did not pull away, he slowly took her hand into his own. He waited a moment, felt how her fingers curled around his, then she turned her head again, and her lips formed a sad smile.

"What's happening with us, with the world, Charles?"

"I don't know." He wished he would. It was the question he had asked himself numerous times since his return from London.

"We better go." She repeated and started to move, pulling him behind. They should have walked in different directions, he to the right and she to the left but he did not want to let go of her hand. Somehow Carson had the feeling that it helped her. It was his only way of telling her how much he cared about her, a small gesture but such a powerful one that he had always been afraid of using it. Perhaps this was his fork in the road now, the moment he had to make a decision that would change his life forever. This time he had to take the way that scared him but would make him happier in the end, if only he knew how.

"You are on the wrong side of the door." His hand was wonderfully warm, the best comfort she had ever received. She did not want to let it go, not now.

* * *

"I guess I am." What was supposed to be a whisper sounded rather loud to her ears and Elsie could not suppress a small laugh. They were too old for this kind of game, the teasing and the whispering in front of a closed door. Housekeeper and butler, the two heads of the household stood in front of her bedroom in the middle of the night. Surrounded by sleeping maids, Mrs Patmore and, unfortunately also Miss O'Brien. It felt like part of a play, extracted from one of the many novels she had read when she was younger: the two lovers secretly trying to find a way out of their restraints. And suddenly she did not feel that comfortable anymore. Her smile faded.

"Is something the matter?"

"I better open the door and let you through." She took the key from the hook and unlocked the door. Carson stepped through onto the other side of the corridor but he did not let go of her hand. Elsie stared at their entwined fingers, wondered what was so wrong about all of this. Why couldn't they be like any other couple? She knew the answer to this question of course: because they had chosen this way, service, and along with it came rules, consequences, and commitments.

"I can tell you what is happening with us," he suddenly whispered and stepped closer again, lifted her hand to place a gentle kiss on the back of it. "Good night."

He turned around and was gone. Elsie closed the door behind him quickly but could not move from the spot. She stared at the frosted glass into the darkness of the men's corridor. The feeling she had been unable to name a while ago was back, stronger than before. Now she knew what it was but that did not make it any easier.

* * *

**2013**

_October 6th 1914_

_It is not even time for breakfast and yet I am already downstairs. Last night has seen a sudden turn of events and I am not sure how it could have happened. She was crying and I could not walk past her and simply ignore her distress. After all I was the one who caused it. How could I let this happen? I should have learned from the mistakes I've made in the past. There are rules to this way of life but are all of them necessary? I am sitting here, trying to find a solution but there seems to be no way out. The only thing I can think about is to court her properly and it frightens me to think about the consequences._

Viola put the diary down. "Wow." She read the last sentence again. "Wow. Mr Carson you are in serious trouble." Too bad there was no mention of why Elsie Hughes had cried. The entry from the day before only mentioned that they had not argued. If she interpreted his words correctly it meant that they had parted as friends. But Viola had not been privy to their conversation, did not know how Mrs Hughes had felt about the discussion. Perhaps she only pretended to be alright to spare Mr Carson another sleepless night. Or they had another conversation before they both went to bed. Maybe Mr Carson would refer to it later on. Viola turned the page slowly, hoped for an entry on October 7th but instead the entry from the 6th continued. Even better!

_We did not talk yet. Breakfast is not the place to have a private conversation and work does not allow us to take time off whenever we require it. In fact I should close this journal and continue with my work. What good does it do to write down my thoughts but never voice them aloud to the person that matters? I shall abandon this journal. It was a silly idea to start it._

"Oh no, you won't." Viola grinned. Half of the small book was filled in his handwriting. He had picked it up again at some point and continued with this silly idea. She checked the next date, October 10th. Mr Carson was not good at sticking to his own rules.

* * *

**1914**

At breakfast she could not talk to him. He looked at her repeatedly, she could feel his eyes on her, but she did not have the courage to turn her head and face him. Elsie concentrated on her porridge, then on the toast and marmalade, discussed a few things with Anna who sat across from her. What had happened last night had kept her awake for longer than she had wanted. Every time she had closed her eyes he was there, touching her cheek, wiping away a tear, kissing her lips. She could not deal with these dreams. They were too vivid. Looking at his face right now would only bring them back again at the most unsuitable situation Elsie could think of. Sitting around the large table in the servant's hall, surrounded by all the others was not a place to start daydreaming.

One of the bells rang and caused a commotion around the table. Lady Mary was up and Anna let her toast fall down on the plate and excused herself. The next one to rise was Lady Grantham. Miss O'Brien finished her cup of tea without haste and only stood up when Elsie shot her an angry look. Soon Mr Bates followed the two women upstairs when his Lordship rang for the valet. Half of the servant's hall was empty now. She could feel how he stared at her but there were still too many people around.

"I better start my day. Madge, Alice." The two maids quickly followed her out of the room. "Make sure to help William with the breakfast service but don't let yourself get caught by Mr Carson."

The two maids hurried up the stairs. Elsie watched them leave. To be this young and carefree again, so many choices still to make, their lives had not yet started to get complicated. They still had options, could continue climbing the ladder and achieve a good position in service or find a husband, marry and enjoy a domestic life. She had decided against the latter option a long time ago, rejected Joe twice. And until a few weeks ago she had not regrets about it. It was the path she had chosen for her life. Being independent was more important than a husband and children. But last night had made her realize something. Elsie heaved a sigh, turned around and made her way into her sitting room where no one would disturb her for the next half hour.

* * *

She avoided him for the rest of the day. Several times he attempted to talk to her but she always found an excuse. The linen needed sorting, the new housemaid was not doing well, Anna needed to talk to her, Mrs Patmore wanted to discuss the new order list. Small things really that could always wait for a few more minutes but Elsie still had not sorted her thoughts, did not know what she really wanted to say to him.

When dinner was over and the ladies and gentlemen upstairs in bed, she could not avoid him any longer. One by one the maids decided to call it a night, picked up the books they had been reading or the magazines and went upstairs. William excused himself shortly after them. Only Miss O'Brien was left sitting at the table, engrossed in some mending, not paying any attention to her or Mr Carson. But Elsie knew that the lady's maid had her eyes and ears open at any time although she might not look like it.

"I better finish writing the dinner cards for tomorrow." He did not even look at her, just pushed his chair back and left the servant's hall. Elsie closed her account book and stared at his back until he was out of sight. She heard the door of his pantry opening and closing and knew that she had to talk to him before he went to bed. They could no longer leave last night's incident unmentioned. From across the table, Miss O'Brien looked up and scrutinized her.

"Is something the matter?"

"No Miss O'Brien. Why should there be?" Elsie got out of her chair, taking her book and pen with her. She was ready to confront him now even if it would result in another sleepless night.

"Oh, I don't know. Mr Carson was a bit reticent today." Needle and thread were put away back into her little basket.

"And what's it to you?" It sounded a bit harsh but there was nothing else to say. None of this was any of Miss O'Brien's business. Elsie left the servant's hall without looking back, however she could hear how the lady's maid packed the rest of her things and then went upstairs, muttering something under her breath. Good, two ears and eyes less that could witness her confession. Not that she felt safer now or braver. The things she had to say to him would change her life forever.

Elsie stood outside his pantry, tightly clutched her book and pen until her knuckles turned white. The other hand rested on the wooden door, ready to knock. It was only a small movement, done every day, but she could not do it. Her determination had disappeared all of a sudden. It was better to leave things as they were, ignore the voice inside her head that had told her all night to tell him, make him understand why she worried so much about him. She lowered her hand and was about to turn away, go into her sitting room and work for another twenty minutes before going to bed, when he opened the door from inside.

"Mrs Hughes?" Their eyes met. Elsie held his gaze for a moment but was unable to say anything. "Do you want to come in?" He stepped aside to make room for her, waited patiently in the doorway, ready to close the door behind them. She moved her eyes away from his face, studied the furniture in his pantry. The old armchair, a large desk, the small side table used to polish the silver. Two bookshelves and the additional chair she usually sat on. Everything was familiar to her eyes, like the man standing next to her and yet there were things hidden in every corner of the room and secrets he had never shared with her. Was there room for another one?

"Elsie?" His hand gently touched her shoulder, waking her from her reverie. "Wouldn't it be better if you came in?"

There was no way back now. Slowly she walked past him towards her chair. "I am sorry, Charles. For today."

The door was shut behind her and with a few quick strides he was at her side. "It was my fault. Entirely my fault. But I do not regret it."

His confession startled her.

"But you obviously do?" The sadness in his voice was overwhelming and Elsie wished she could simply tell him that she had thought about it all night and through the entire day, but the words refused to leave her mouth. "I know that I have been terrible stubborn the last few weeks," he went on, "but you see I don't know what to do. I am not good at adapting to change. And I like things to be done properly."

"I know." She put down her book and pen on the seat of the armchair. Now was the moment to be honest with him, speak the words aloud that had tortured her all night. "But what you do not know about me is why I worry about you so much. I might have given you an explanation earlier but you see, Charles, that's not the truth."

"I don't understand."

Elsie reached for his hand and entwined their fingers, like he had done last night. "I had once made a decision for myself. The day I decided to go into service was the day I also knew I would not leave my position again for a live as a married woman. I value my independence very much Charles. But over the last years I have realized that there is something missing."

His thumb caressed the back of her hand, a soothing gesture, but he did not say a word, only looked into her eyes. So Elsie continued. "I want to be allowed to worry about you, have the right to do so."

She paused, waited for his reaction to her words. Elsie could not read his face, his mouth did not show a smile, his eyes seemed to search something in her own. Then he decisively took hold of her other hand, repeated what he had done last night. His lips gently touched her skin when he planted not one but several kisses on the back of her hands. "Elsie Hughes, would you do me the honour and allow me to court you?"

For a moment she was speechless. She had not expected him to say these words. Not yet. He had taken advantage of the situation and it was the best thing he had ever done. Why had she worried so much about this conversation? Because they broke the rules, abandoned the safety of their positions by admitting something that had been growing between them for years? It would cost them their jobs should anyone ever find out. But she was good at keeping things secret.

"Yes."

Like in her dream, he cupped her face with both hands and slowly captured her lips for a sweet first kiss.

* * *

TBC

now I need to hurry a bit because I run out of already written chapters ;)


	16. Chapter 16

**What remains of the Past**

_A/N Nanowrimo is over but there is still a lot to write! It's a bit difficult to motivate myself at the moment but I HAVE TO FINISH THIS! So if you want this story to be finished/new chapters then you really have to push me a bit ;). Kick my ass - so to say. Thanks for all your kind reviews so far! (I can tell you: this is a good motivation)_

* * *

**Chapter 15 **

**2013**

_October 10__th__ 1914_

_Recent events make it necessary to continue this diary. My life has been turned upside down yet again. I thought I had found my place in life and that I would never risk my position again for a woman's love. But I had been mistaken. She stole my heart away, years ago. However I had been too blind to notice it. We are both aware of our duties, our positions, the rules that come with the life we live. It is not right to abandon all principles but isn't it also wrong to deny one's feelings? _

_We are courting now, in secret. Although it would make me feel better to tell his Lordship about it and about our plans. After all, he is the one under whose roof we live and work. He has a right to know. _

Oh this was so romantic. Viola could not close the diary anymore. Page after page she read the short entries, felt sorry for Mr Carson that he still was so full of doubt. It was clear that he was in love with Elsie Hughes but he had troubles accepting that they broke their own rules and justified their decision. In one entry he mentioned Mr Bates and Anna, the head housemaid, again, wondered if there was something going on between the two servants and that it was impossible to forbid this relationship now that he himself had started courting Elsie Hughes.

Sometimes Mr Carson only gave an account of his day, did not mention Mrs Hughes at all. These were the entries Viola skipped without regret. She still hoped to find a mention of their proposal, the wedding day or a kiss. And how did they manage to keep it a secret in a house so full of people. There were ears and eyes everywhere, constantly observing what the others were doing. And these two basically had almost no private sphere. Their doors were always open; people would come in at any time with their wishes and complaints.

She turned another page, had by now already reached December 1914 and only fifteen more minutes before she was expected at dinner. If it was not so comfortable living in this house where she did not have to care about her meals, a chef did the cooking, the fridge was always filled, Viola would have left long ago. She enjoyed the comfort, the carefree living. Her job was stressful enough whenever she was sent away for a field trip. It felt good to come home and not have to care about trivial things.

The hand on her watch had moved and another minute had passed over her useless musing. With her finger, she scanned the text Mr Carson had written, hoping to find certain keywords. "You can't be serious, Mr Carson! Nothing between October and December? Why are you so bloody uptight?"

_She has accepted._

Viola let out a small yelp of delight. There it was. Her eyes went back to the beginning of the paragraph.

_December 20__th__ 1914_

_We are in the middle of the preparations for Christmas. Despite the war, his Lordship has decided not to cancel the Servant's Ball. It will lift our spirits and it will be a day where we will thank the Lord that he has kept our loved ones safe. So far no messages have reached us. The men from Downton who had been sent to fight in this war are all still alive; some of them were wounded and sent home. She prays for them every day. And we both pray that this gruesome war will be over soon. Mr Matthew has not yet been sent to the front but he has joined the army of course. We seldom see him these days. _

_But there are also more joyful events to report. Since I cannot tell anyone else, this journal will be my witness and the words in it my confession. She has accepted. I do not know how I found the courage to ask. After all these years I have made a decision I have always been afraid of. But I know that it is the right one. I will never forget the smile on her face and the warmth of her embrace. We have not set a date yet and she wishes to keep everything secret. I accept that wish for now but one day we have to tell the truth. _

* * *

**1914**

"What does it mean _you cannot deliver the wine by Tuesday_? That is inacceptable!" This day had seen so many obstacles so far but this one was the worst of them. On Christmas Day the family wanted to celebrate the annual Servant's Ball and he was missing at least two dozen bottles of wine for the festivities. The order had been written and sent weeks ago and the merchant had also confirmed the delivery date already.

"The war, Mr Carson. There are shortages everywhere. I am sorry but we have other priorities." The voice at the other end of the line informed him.

"Then set your priorities right! You've delivered our wine for decades. See that you fulfil the order or it will be the last. Good day to you." He hung up the phone, this blasted modern day contraption, and pushed it to the other end of his desk so that it was out of sight. His head already ached from the discussion he had earlier with Mrs Patmore about the Christmas dinner, and he rubbed his temples carefully, hoping for the throbbing pain to subside.

Apart from the wine, meat was in short supply, their local grocers kept things back, hoarded them just in case. Mrs Hughes had already tried to convince the cook that they could not make the traditional dishes this year but it had all gotten out of hand. Then he had stepped in and made it even worse. The day was a mess.

"Are you alright Mr Carson?" Her soft voice came from out of nowhere. When did she enter the room? He looked up to see her standing next to his chair, studying him worriedly.

"Just a headache." He gently squeezed her hand that was resting on the armrest. "It will be over in a minute."

"I heard you shouting over the telephone. Are you sure you're alright?" She returned his loving gesture. It was the only thing they could share unnoticed over the course of each day. Small touches, the back of a hand brushing his leg when she passed him in the hall or on the stairs, him touching the small of her back when she walked in front of him.

"We won't get the wine in time for Christmas and the Servant's Ball."

"Oh dear, that's bad news. And we already changed the dinner this year. Mrs Patmore won't be pleased if I tell her that she has to plan something new again."

He caressed the back of her hand with his thumb, absentmindedly. He needed a way out of this dilemma, fast. Perhaps he could find a wine merchant in York who still had the vintage he was looking for in stock. "Don't tell her just yet. I'd like to go to York first. Perhaps one of the sellers there is able to provide us with the bottles we are missing."

* * *

He had left the house one hour after their discussion in his pantry. Now it was already past three in the afternoon and he still was not back from York. The journey took a while by train and of course he would not be successful in his search right away. Carson knew the town and most of the merchants there but finding the one who could sell them exactly the wine they required for the Christmas festivities was something that needed time and experience. Elsie wished he had taken William with him. It would have lessened his workload a bit, allowed him to start the search at both ends of the town at the same time. The family would not have minded to be served by Anna and another maid during luncheon. But of course she had lost this discussion.

Elsie was getting restless, had always hated to be left behind, be it as a small child on the farm or as an experienced housekeeper. The worries that plagued her were exactly the same. Another five minutes passed, and then ten more. The hands on the clock moved restlessly onwards, making the waiting almost unbearable. She needed to keep busy, find distraction somehow to keep her mind away from worrying about him. Elsie had a look at the rota, the plans she had made for her maids in order to get the house ready for Christmas in time. But all the tasks she had noted down for the day had already been given out to the girls. On top of that, she had finished her rounds, found the guest bedrooms cleaned and everything else in order. Paperwork was all that was left for her to do now and it would certainly keep her busy but not necessarily distracted enough. On her desk the account book lay open in front of her. She still had to work on that and plan the inventory of the linen cupboard for the days after Christmas. These were all jobs she disliked immensely, however they needed to be done sooner rather than later.

Elsie picked up her pen and started checking the columns, added a sum here, crossed out a line there. For another hour she worked hard on correcting small mistakes she had made over the course of a month before she added the latest expenses. Rows of numbers stared back at her when she had finished. The regularity and the neatness of it calmed her a bit. Things were looking good and although she was not fond of this part of her work, she was pleased by the outcome.

Four o'clock, the small clock on her mantelpiece chimed the hour. Now it was really time for him to return. Elsie closed her book, the waiting was getting unbearable. She did not even know why she was so worried and nervous about his absence. He was a grown man who knew his way around town. Mr Carson would not get lost.

She took a deep breath, slowly exhaled, concentrated on her breathing for a second. There would be a perfect explanation why it took him so long. After all, he spent three months each year in London and she only received his letters twice a week, had no idea what he was doing during the days in between. She never worried about him while they were separated during the season. Her eyes wandered across her room restlessly until they fell on the book lying on the small table next to the door. _Jane Eyre, _his gift to her, read and reread a dozen times. Some of the chapters she already knew by heart, had seen the words so many times in her life that she could quote them to anyone who asked. This bookwould always be her favourite novel and this particular copy, the one he had given to her, always managed to calm her nerves. It was a piece of him. Elsie decided to leave the linen rota for later, got up from her chair and took a seat at the table to read a bit.

* * *

The streets of York were full of people. He had problems finding his way through the crowd and difficulties getting a hold of the wine merchants he knew. Most of them were out, visiting customers; some of them had even closed their shops because they could not satisfy the high demand. Three hours alone were spent in finding a shop that offered the type of wine he needed. Add another hour for the negotiations, payment and to make sure that the wine was delivered within the next two days. When he left the shop it was already two in the afternoon and the train back would depart in one hour. For the first time in weeks, he had a moment for himself and no clue what to do with this unexpected gift.

York was not a town like London where one would find distraction at every corner and a walk through the streets seemed an undesirable way of spending his time. There were too many people walking hurriedly from one place to another. Carson tried to stay close to the shop windows and after having looked at a few of them, decided that it would be an interesting thing to study each of them carefully. There was hardly anything else he could do to pass the time. He had not spent his time on such a pointless thing since his childhood. Back then the goods displayed were all desirable, interesting, marvellous to a lad of ten years, but never affordable. Nowadays only a few items caught his attention but none of them were really interesting until he reached the jeweller's shop.

His reflection caught in the window. A tall man, wearing a black bowler, his face stern, a person one respects, and yet there was a sparkle in his eyes, fine lines around his mouth that were witnesses of the happy moments in his life. The man that looked back at him was the one footmen, maids, cook and hallboys saw every day but the details, the man he was inside, had only ever been noticed by one person. And so it was not the beautifully engraved pocket watch he was attracted too, or some of the silver ware that was on display, but a ring has caught his attention, a simple golden band with a small red stone set in the middle, sparkling in the glow of the few street lights that were already lit.

They had so far not talked about marriage. For now it was enough to know that she loved him. Every day he could be himself around her, not be the stern butler everyone else saw in him, was a gift. Elsie Hughes had given him back a part of his life he had thought was lost forever. When he had made the decision to return to Downton, to go back into service, he had sworn to himself to never fall in love again. A few years ago Carson might have regarded their courtship as a mistake, something he should have avoided at any cost, even if it had cost him his own happiness. But times were changing, he had changed and his heart had never stopped longing for someone to love.

Maybe it was the right thing to do, the next path he had to walk down.

* * *

"Mr Carson is back, Mrs Hughes." William stuck his head through her door, giving her the information she had impatiently waited for all afternoon. "He's still outside, discussing the shooting lunch. But he'll be here any minute."

"Thank you William for letting me know." She smiled at the young man who blushed a little before he turned around and continued his walk down the corridor, probably towards the servant's hall to grab a cup of tea before he was needed upstairs for dinner. The door to her sitting room was left open. It took all her willpower to not run outside and greet Mr Carson now that she knew he was back. But she could not stay in her seat and continue with her reading a minute longer. Elsie listened to every sound that came from outside to catch him the minute he entered the house. The sounds from the kitchen blended with the conversations coming from the servant's hall, footsteps on the corridor came closer, but it was only one of the maids walking past. A door was opened and shut again, not the backdoor that had this unmistakeable sound of the creaking hinges no one ever took the time to lubricate. The minutes passed and she still stood in the middle of her sitting room when Anna came in.

"Mr Carson wants you to know that he's gone upstairs to the attic. Apparently his Lordship needs something from one of the old trunks stored up there. He has asked me to send you there to help him."

The request was odd, so unlike him and Elsie could see on Anna's face that the head housemaid had exactly the same thoughts. "Has he given you these orders directly?"

She nodded her head. "Yes, Mrs Hughes. I think it's rather odd."

"Indeed, it is. He has just returned from York and was supposed to discuss the Christmas dinner with me and Mrs Patmore." It was only half the truth. She could not possibly tell Anna how worried she was about him, the hours she had spent waiting impatiently for him to return. And now he did not even have the decency to come to her directly and apologize for his lateness?

"Well, he walked past me when I came downstairs and he asked for your help." Anna shrugged her shoulders.

"Thank you Anna. I guess I must go upstairs now and see for myself." Whatever he had in mind when giving the head housemaid such an odd message, Elsie hoped he had a good excuse.

* * *

The corridor behind him was covered in darkness. Only one small oil lamp provided him with light. He had put it on the windowsill next to the staircase where the flame flickered in the cold draft coming from outside through the leaks in the old window frame. He could barely read the time on his pocket watch, but it must be half past four. If Anna had passed on his message right away, Mrs Hughes was probably on her way upstairs already.

His hand felt for the small item in the pocket of his waistcoat. Soon he would see it in the light, sparkling on her finger. Any minute now he would find out if he had made the right decision. He did not want to think about a negative reply, a no from her lips, a rejection. The Mrs Hughes he knew would never do such a thing to him, but the Elsie Hughes Joe Burns had courted and proposed to twice, had turned the man down. In this moment of waiting for her, Carson suddenly realized that he did not know her at all. He always thought he could read her like an open book, and perhaps this was the case where work was concerned, but in all these years he had not once noticed how much she loved him. It had taken dozens of letters, long months away in London until he finally knew.

In the distance he could hear footsteps, heels on the wooden stairs making this familiar, repetitive sound. The sound of them grew louder with every step until Mrs Hughes was just a few metres away from him. Her shadow emerged out of the darkness into the dim light where he stood waiting.

"Elsie?" Their eyes met but there was no smile on her face.

"What are you doing up here?" Instead of greeting him happily like he had expected, she crossed her arms and her lips were a thin red line.

"I can explain everything but please allow me to show you something first." He reached out to take her hand but she ignored it, kept her arms crossed. "I know I am late but you will see why in a minute." Carson was getting more nervous and desperate with every passing second.

"I hope you have a very good explanation for all of this, Mr Carson."

"Will you follow me?" The pleading tone in his voice obviously had made an effect. She let her arms fall to her sides and heaved an annoyed sigh.

* * *

Of course she was angry and irritated by his strange behaviour but at the same time, Elsie wanted to fall into his arms and kiss him, show him how much she had missed him. It was a silly notion one expected of a young housemaid not from a housekeeper in her fifties. But he had also angered her with his lateness and the missing welcoming. And now she was following him along the dark corridor of the servant's sleeping quarters to his room, not the attic.

"Whatever you have told Anna, it was a lie, I presume?" Her voice still sounded angry although curiosity was the stronger emotion right now.

"It was." He opened the door and she hesitated a moment before she entered his room. The light was already switched on and a vase full of beautiful winter flowers stood on his desk. "How else would you have agreed to meet me up here?"

"What…," she had wanted to be angry with him for the rest of the day but could not bring herself to hold her grudge any longer. Her heart began to race in her chest because she thought she knew what he was going to do, the question he was about to ask her. "Charles, what is all this?"

"I needed some privacy for just a few minutes. This is the only place I could think of." He took her hand and Elsie accepted it this time with gratitude. A warm palm enclosed her smaller one, his thumb caressed her skin for a moment before he led her over to the bed. "Please, there is something I need to ask you."

It felt good to sit down; her knees had started to get too weak to carry her for much longer. The last time she had felt so excited and tense was when Joe had first kissed her, a long time ago, in a different century. And still, nothing could compare to what she was experiencing at the moment. She looked up at Carson, this tall, wonderful man, while nervously wringing her hands in her lap and biting down on her bottom lip.

He cleared his throat, his hand fumbled something out of the pocket of his waistcoat and before she knew what was happening, his warm voice asked the question she had never expected to hear from him. "Elsie Hughes, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

She could not speak, only stared at him, her eyes opened wide. Somehow her brain remembered what it had to do make her nod her head and judging by the bright smile on his face it was the answer he had hoped to hear from her.

"Yes?" He took both her hands and helped her stand.

"Yes." Only now did she see the ring he held between his index finger and thumb, the small stone caught the light of the lamp, glimmering red. Slowly, he put it on her left hand, kissing her hand gently afterwards. Elsie studied the ring for a moment, unable to say how she felt about it. The weight of the piece of jewellery on her finger was unfamiliar and yet it looked as if it had always been there.

"I hope you like it." His voice was only a whisper, reminding Elsie that she had not said a single thing to him apart from her answer to the most important question in her life. But she still could not find the right words to express what his proposal meant to her. Years of going through life on her own, always careful to avoid any relationship that might risk her career. Rejecting Joe Burns twice, both at times when she had felt insecure about her job but knew that Downton was the place where she would be happier than on a farm. All of these choices had shaped the person she was now. And the Elsie Hughes standing in Charles Carson's bedroom at the moment was a woman who knew that she had made the most of her life, secured her place in society. She did not doubt her decision for a single second because she knew that the man she was going to marry accepted her the way she was. He knew her flaws, knew that she was an independent woman, love her not the character she was to the other members of staff.

Elsie smiled up at him before she wrapped her arms around his body and rested her head on his chest. "Every bit of it. Everything." A loving kiss was placed on top of her head. Then he took her in his arms and drew her even closer.

"Thank you."

* * *

TBC! Haha! He said it! YES! And now I have a lot of writing to do... because I ran out of chapters!


	17. Chapter 17

**What remains of the Past**

_A/N Thank you sooo much for all your kind words! I wish I could update a bit faster but the last few days I was very busy so I couldn't write a lot. So I decided to make a short update and then a longer one the next time :) (with more Carson/Hughes) Enjoy reading._

* * *

**chapter 17**

**2013**

Viola found herself staring at the wedding picture, analysing every tiny bit of it. Her smile, his hand on her shoulder, the flowers, how Elsie Hughes sat on that chair. They looked to happy and content as if they had reached the end of a very long journey, relieved to have made it there. And that was what they really had gone through. So many years of working side by side, of always denying their true selves, before they finally took the huge risk and got married. The picture did not have a date at the bottom and Viola was afraid to take it out of the frame. She did not want to damage the old photograph. But she was sure that after his proposal in December it might have taken a while for them to find a date.

First of all, the war was still raging on the continent, they had their work they could not abandon and everything had to be kept secret from the prying eyes and ears of the other servants. What a brave decision! Viola put the picture back and then realized that she had to abandon her couple yet again. She still had the whole night to finish reading the diary and the rest of the letters would follow tomorrow when her parents were out of the house to some social event in York.

* * *

"May I ask where you've been all day?" Her father amusedly asked during dinner.

"Oh, helping Claire with her wedding and then I have a lot of research to do for a new project." Viola took another spoonful of her soup.

"But you were not in your room when I came looking for you." He winked at her, obviously trying to tell her something but Viola had no idea what he was up to. Did he know where she had been hiding the last few days? Had the receptionist talked to him?

"Well, I can work everywhere, can't I?"

"Of course. Only, what did you want with the chronicle? It's a bit too heave to carry it around the house." So she had talked.

"I was just interested in how many members of staff this house had through the centuries. Like I said: research, da." Now it was Viola's turn to wink at him. "And I'd like to ask you a few questions about it."

"Oh, ask away." Richard had finished his soup and was helping himself to some carrots and potatoes.

"Later, da. After dinner?" Viola looked at her mother and sister but both of them were engrossed in a conversation about wedding cakes or something like that.

"That sounds interesting already."

* * *

To catch her dad alone was not as easy as Viola has thought. After dinner, Richard had an urgent phone call to make, keeping him busy for another thirty minutes in which Viola impatiently waited for him in the library. She hoped that none of the guests would enter the room while she was in it. Why her parents had decided to open it for the public was still a mystery to her. Of course it was fascinating to see so many old books displayed in one place, the oldest from the early 17th century. But the library had always been a place where Viola liked to hide, escape from reality with the help of a good book. With the constant presence of strangers, although they were guest, this place had been ruined for her. The only remaining joy of the room was its smell. No one could take that from her.

While she waited, Viola thought about how she could explain to her father what she had found. Should she explain who these people were she was reading about? Or start with how she had found their belongings? She was not at all sure about this. Both were important pieces of information for her father but they could also ruin the conversation completely. What if Richard Crawley insisted on seeing the suitcase, books, letter and photos? Viola was not sure she could show them to anyone yet. They were so private that despite her excitement about the butler and housekeeper, Viola already felt like an intruder into their private lives.

"So, what was it you want to know?" Suddenly her father sat down next to her onto the read couch.

"I didn't even see you coming in." Viola looked around. No guests were currently in the room with them.

"You were daydreaming, like always, my dear."

* * *

She had to choose her words carefully, too much information would perhaps make her father suspicious and Viola did not want any member of her family to come to the attic any time soon. There had been no time during dinner to think about what to say although she had planned to concentrate on it. Now, every second she spent pondering about the right words was a waste of time. She could only talk to her father as long as there were no guests present.

"Da, did you ever hear about a married housekeeper and butler here at Downton?" Perhaps this was the easiest way of getting the information she wanted: a confirmation from her father that they all knew about this couple.

"Not that I remember, no." She could see that he was not convinced by his own answer, something in his face told her that Richard Crawley was still thinking, searching his memory for a piece of information he might have picked up when he was a child but had never needed. "Wait. Which year are we talking about?"

"1910s to 1920s?" Viola held her breath and nervously picked at her thumbnail.

"Before I say anything, why do you ask?"

"Can we talk about that later, please? It takes a while to explain and first I really need to know if you've ever heard about it."

Her father took a deep breath before he continued. "My father told me about it when I was still a child, said how sad it was that I never knew them because he remembered them as very nice people. They lived on a cottage on the grounds after they'd retired. But when I was born they were of course already dead. My father still had some fond memories of the housekeeper but she left the house when he was six I think. I don't even remember her name."

"Mrs Hughes." Viola helped him out. Her father stared at her, eyes wide with disbelief.

"How do you know? It's not in the chronicle."

This was one thing she had hoped to hear from him. The relationship was never mentioned, no one ever talked about it openly but everyone seemed to know. "You see, I found their letters, and some old photographs. But please don't tell anyone. I don't want mum or Claire to know about this."

"Is this what your research is about?" The shock on his face was replaced by a genuine smile. "Hiding somewhere in the house to read them?"

She bit her lip and avoided looking into his eyes. "Yes, to both your questions. And I really needed to know whether the family knew about their relationship or had kept it secret because they were afraid of the reputation of Downton."

"Oh, my grandfather wasn't that strict!" Richard took Viola's hands. "And I won't tell anyone that you are studying about the servants and not the family."

"Mum would not appreciate it." They both said at the same time, rolling their eyes before they burst into laughter.

"No, she definitely won't." Her father kissed Viola's cheek. "If there is anything else you want to know, don't be afraid to ask."

* * *

Viola prepared for another night shift with the diary and more letters, packed a sleeping bag, a large thermos full of tea and a box of biscuits, before she climbed the stairs to her secret place again. By now it was really comfortable on the platform, a small hiding place from everything that bothered or stressed her. As a child she had often longed for something like this when her sisters had refused to play with he, or when Claire was being her usual nasty self. Viola would have built her own little hideaway, complete with her dolls, favourite toys and lots of cushions. The thought made her smile. She could not have it then but she had created something similar now.

The sleeping back was rolled out onto the blanket, making it a bit more comfortable right away. Two pillows leaning at one large support log served as a backrest. Viola poured a cup of hot tea, took the diary and snuggled into the sleeping bag.

_January 3__rd__ 1915_

_The date is set. We are getting married in a fortnight. The registrar's office in Ripon has accepted the banns and offered us the 18__th__ of January. With my birthday on the 21__st__ we will have a lot more to celebrate in this first month of the New Year than we are used to and alas these will be the only joyful things to look forward to for a long time. News from France are as gruesome as ever and Downton has lost two young gardeners, barely 20 years old. Lord Grantham is still determined to join the active forces and Mr Matthew will leave to fight in France soon. Mrs Crawley has informed the family about his departure during dinner tonight. We are all praying for everyone's safe return. _

_Elsie had a lengthy discussion with William this morning. The young lad insists on enlisting although he is not old enough yet and we all hope that his father talks him out of this nonsense. His wish to fight for king and country is honourably but his father has no one else left. _

* * *

**1915**

He managed to sneak back into the house unnoticed, quickly got out of his coat and left his hat on the shelf at the backdoor. The fingers inside his gloves were cold and so were his arms and legs. An icy wind had blown outside, creating snowdrifts everywhere. On his walk back from the bus stop, Carson had had difficulties finding the path that usually led him to Downton and often found his legs stuck in knee-deep snow. He needed to remove his shows and fetch a dry pair of trousers but first he had to make an announcement or his heart would burst with joy.

His shoes left wet footprints on the stone floor, leading from the backdoor to her sitting room. Each step was a bit painful since he could no longer feel his toes and his woollen socks clung to his feet. However, it did not matter now. Her door was ajar and he could see her sitting at her desk, concentrating on some account book. Slowly he opened the door fully and tried to enter her room without making any noise.

"Mr Carson is that you?" She did not even turn around.

"Of course Mrs Hughes." One surprise might have been ruined now but there was still another one he had to tell.

"I was wondering what took you so long." Her swivel chair moved, spun in a half circle and she eyed him critically from head to toe. "And why you went out in such a weather!"

Carson looked down at his shoes and trouser legs and could understand why she suddenly jumped out of her chair and was about to shove him out of her room. "Upstairs, fast. You can't stay like this! You will catch your death and I won't have that!" Her teasing tone was completely gone and replaced by worry.

"Elsie, listen. Just a minute, please." He was strong enough to stop her but could not erase that worried look on her face. "I wasn't down in the village but in Ripon. The snow outside might look appealing but walking here from the bus stop was a bit difficult as you can see."

"That's no excuse why you came in here instead of going right up to your room to change!" She sounded slightly hysterical now.

"It is because I've fixed a date for us. The 18th." She stared at him, speechless. "Our wedding day."

"This month?"

He nodded and placed a small kiss on her forehead. "Can you forgive the state of my clothing now?" The face he looked into now, her eyes sparkling, the lips curled into a soft smile, was the only answer he needed. A few tears ran down her cheeks and if they were not standing in her sitting room with the door half open, he would have kissed them away one by one. A year ago a moment like this would have been a ridiculous dream, something his subconscious mind might have presented to him after a stressful day. He would have woken up relaxed and happy but would soon have realized that it was not real and never could be.

Things had changed so fast during the last few months and the woman he held in his arm at this very moment was real, not an dream. He could feel her hands on his back, holding him close, her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"I should change into some dry and clean trousers now," Carson murmured.

"You better have. We can celebrate the good news tonight." She let go of him, raised herself on tiptoes and kissed his lips. "And this," another quick peck, "is an exception", meaning the kiss.

* * *

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

**What remains of the Past**

_A_/_N soooo. UPDATE! And thank you kouw for your encouraging words, your support and for everything. mwah! _**  
**

_and please read this while alone in the room. thanksbye._

* * *

**chapter 18**

**1915**

At a quarter to eleven, Mrs Patmore was still up, going through the dinner for the next day, William was playing a lovely tune on the piano in the servant's hall. Most of the youngsters had gone upstairs already to get some sleep after their long working day.

Elsie listened to the piano sounds that echoed through the corridor, enjoyed the happy melody the lad was playing. Not Bach or Mozart but some new music her ear was not yet tired to hear. Probably a new dance he had picked up during his half day off somewhere in Ripon. Waltzing was not modern enough for the young people. And Elsie could not blame them. With the horrors of the war always on their minds they needed something fresh and entertaining to distract them. Her foot automatically picked up the rhythm of the song and after William had played the chorus for the third time, Elsie was whistling along to the tune.

"Would you like to dance?"

She looked up from the book she was reading when his deep voice interrupted the music.

"I would like to if I'd knew how." Elsie closed her book and passed through her room until she was standing next to him in the doorway, looking out onto the corridor towards the servant's hall. "He is rather good at this, always has been." She felt how his left hand came to rest on the small of her back, the gentle touch sent a shiver down her spine and it was good that no one else was around and saw them like this; standing close together, side by side, slowly swaying to the music.

"William is a clever young man. Let us pray that the war spares him." The hand wandered a bit further down and around her waist so that it now rested on her hip, visible to everyone who might pass down the corridor. Elsie quickly looked around, to make sure they were alone before her right hand joined his.

"And for this war to be over soon." Their fingers entwined and they stood like this for another moment until William finished the tune and started a new one. It was much faster than the previous and loud cheering could be heard over the sound of the piano.

"We better leave them to it now. God knows these aren't times were they can enjoy themselves very often." He let go of her hand and walked into her sitting room, leaving her standing alone in the doorway. Elsie still had her back turned to him. She needed a while to concentrate on something happy instead of the threat of maybe losing William soon. The young man had become one of her favourites although she was not supposed to get too attached to the younger servants. The same had happened with Anna, her girl. They were her family, the people she saw and talked to every day. Many years she had managed to regard the maids as what they were: servants, working under her command for the Lord and Lady of the house. It was vital that the younger employees respected her. There was no room for sentimentality. But at one point, things had changed and she had started to leave the door of her sitting room open for anyone who wanted to talk to her. Maids came to her when they were homesick; she served them a cup of hot, sugary tea and gave them some words of encouragement to dry their tears. She treated small injuries not only with a bandage or an ointment but also by touching a maid's cheek or shoulder, by smiling at them and telling them that they won't even remember the cut in a few years. Perhaps it was something that came with age, with realizing that despite being successful in her job there were other important things in life worth experiencing and having.

The music faded, she heard William say that he was tired and would go to bed now, laughter, footsteps, and chatter could be heard from the servant's hall now while the young servants packed their books, magazines and knitting together and went upstairs to their rooms.

When she finally turned around, ready to enjoy a quiet evening with the man she would marry in a few weeks, he was sitting in her armchair and his head had dropped to one side. He was asleep, exhausted probably from all the work and excitement. Elsie closed the door behind her and tiptoed over to the chair, gently covered him with the plaid she kept next to her fireplace during the long, cold winter months, and placed a kiss on his brow. He stirred but did not wake.

"No dancing tonight then, my dear man." She kissed his forehead, then the tip of his nose and finally his lips. Being able to do these things to him was overwhelming but it felt right, like something she had always done.

* * *

**2013**

Viola skipped the next two entries in the diary until she reached the one right after the secret wedding. Before she started reading, she remembered the chronicle. Her father had said that the marriage was not mentioned in there, although they all knew about it, but perhaps he had never searched for it properly. After all, he had only heard about a married butler and housekeeper but never read their letters or the butler's diary. Viola moved closer to the table of suitcases without getting out of the sleeping bag. The large chronicle was heavy and she was unable to grab it with just one hand but even with both hands she could not hold it for long. It landed in her lap with a thud.

"Ouch." Viola sucked her thumb that had been caught underneath the book. "Blasted thing." Nevertheless she opened the volume and tried to find the beginning of the year 1915. Again the first entry was a list of who was working at the house. In January, housekeeper and butler were still mentioned as _Mrs Hughes _and _Mr Carson. _Viola looked at the summary of January, read the entry carefully, searching for the smallest hints. But there was nothing in it. Apparently two more men had fallen in France, outside staff again, as well as two of the local farmers. She had a look at February, then March, April and May. Nothing. The war however came closer to Downton with every passing month. Viola decided to read about the wedding first and then continue with studying the chronicle. At some point the family must have mentioned the relationship between their senior members of staff. It was impossible to keep something like that secret for long.

_January 19__th__, 1915_

_I am the happiest man. _

_I am__ writing this in the early morning hours. The sun has not yet risen and the room around me is dark. On a normal day I would still be fast asleep but I have to sort my thoughts or else they will haunt me for the rest of the day. Yesterday I made the bravest decision of my life. The woman I have secretly loved for so many years is now my wife and yet we cannot be husband and wife in front of the people that surround us. The ring on her finger must be worn on a golden chain around her neck and she will still be Mrs Hughes to the others. But in my heart I know that we belong together and that we have done nothing we must be ashamed of. Even at times like these where everything we once knew changes, some things stay the same. A butler and housekeeper should not marry under any circumstances. And yet here I am, married to the woman who has been employed as housekeeper for so many years. We have broken every rule but I could not be happier. _

* * *

**1915**

Her ladyship had not asked why butler and housekeeper had taken their half-day off at the same day. Elsie heaved a sigh of relief as soon as she was out of the drawing room and the door behind her closed. Lady Grantham now knew that Mr Carson would not be available this afternoon and that the housekeeper was also out to run some errands. What Cora Crawley was unaware of was that the two servants would be together all afternoon and not go separate ways. Elsie wondered for a short moment whether Lady Grantham would try to find out what they were up to but dismissed the thought again immediately. She had asked for permission and it was granted. Worrying about possible consequences afterwards was useless.

Elsie had a look at the large grandfather clock next to the main staircase before she went downstairs again to continue with her work. It was only a quarter to eleven. Luncheon would be served soon in the dining room and shortly after the staff would have their meal. Right after that, the bus left for Ripon. Mr Carson would leave the house first and they had decided that she should leave it ten minutes later, carrying a basket. In case someone asked, Elsie Hughes was on her way to Ripon to fetch a few things she could not buy in the village. Mr Carson on the other hand had his regular half-day off and no one would wonder about his whereabouts.

* * *

The ring was safely tucked away into the small pocket of his waistcoat. His hands constantly felt for it, always afraid of losing it on the way to the bus stop. Maybe he should keep it in his hand, the small black velvety box that contained a simple gold band with their names engraved on the inside. _Charles & Elsie – January 18__th__ 1915 – forever. _Soon the ring would join her engagement ring and he could not wait to arrive in Ripon and step in front of the registrar.

Again the hand touched his coat, felt the small bulge underneath it. The ring was still there. Carson walked on, further and further away from the house. He did not look back, only had this one thing in mind, their wedding. If he had turned around to have one last glimpse at Downton Abbey, he might have doubted his decision. After all, he did something his Lordship would not approve of. Charles Carson broke every rule, was for once not the obedient servant he had been for the last 40 years, and it felt strange and wrong when he thought about it. But there was a feeling stronger than the one of betrayal, and that one was more important to him than his work, the reputation of the house or the family. He had never thought he would be capable of taking the difficult and dangerous part of the road but here he was, walking towards the bus stop on his way to Ripon to get married.

* * *

They both sat on the bench in front of the small office, waiting impatiently. He had covered her gloved hand with his own. They did not look at each other, or talk, were only waiting to be called in. On the opposite wall the hands of the large clock moved forward achingly slow, minute by minute. She could sense how nervous he was. Instead of holding her hand gently like he always did, the tight grip was almost painful. But she did not pull away, endured the pain for as long as she could. If it made him feel better, then she would not take this consolation away from him.

It was not only nervousness, the realization that they would be husband and wife in a few minutes. What they were about to do was risky, their marriage was something frowned upon among their people as well as their aristocratic employers but on the other hand it was not illegal. People in love did these things. It was their right, the logical last step in every relationship. Elsie was not afraid of being found out but she knew that it had caused him some sleepless nights. She knew that he was happy, did not regret their decision at all but the small voice inside his head, that appealed to his reason, did not stop asking the same question: what if. Over the past two weeks she had tried to convince him that even if Lord Grantham found out he would not throw them out. He might be shocked but there was no reason for him to search for a new butler and housekeeper. Besides, how should he find new personnel now? In the middle of a war?

"It will be alright, don't worry." She whispered, still looking at the opposite wall, her eyes fixed on the minute hand of the clock.

"I know." He released her hand for a moment, entwined their fingers. "And I want you to be my wife more than anything else."

Elsie had trouble holding back her tears, bit down on her bottom lip to stop them from welling up. "I love you." Finally she turned her head to look at him.

"I love you." Though his voice was barely audible, she could see it all on his face. Years he had managed to hide every emotion behind a stern façade. Now it all surfaced, right in front of her eyes. Despite all her efforts, a few tears ran down her cheeks. "It will be alright. Don't worry." He repeated her words and it made her smile. This was the man she would spend the rest of her life with. He would never leave her side, never betray her, always be there.

"Mr Charles Carson?" A young secretary appeared in the large doorway, her eyes scanning the corridor and stopping at them. "Mr Carson? Would you please come in?"

He squeezed her hand reassuringly one last time before they both got up and walked through the door into a new life.

* * *

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

**What remains of the Past**

_A/n WOW! I was really really touched by all of your reviews for the last chapter. Sorry the updates take a while now but I had a lot of trouble writing the "wedding night". It takes longer than I had planned ;). Enjoy reading a FULL Carson/Hughes chapter._

* * *

**chapter 19  
**

**1915**

The only suspicious look they received after their return was one from Mrs Patmore. The cook lingered in the doorway when Carson opened the back door to let Elsie in. She welcomed them with a snarky comment.

"Don't tell me you've met on your way back." She had her arms crossed and regarded them with curiosity.

"I met Mr Carson in the village and we walked back together, Mrs Patmore." The smile on Elsie's face did not reach her eyes. It was the first test they were put through. He helped her out of her coat, careful not to touch her shoulders or arms. But before he could say anything to Mrs Patmore and defend himself, Elsie had walked away from him, directly into her sitting room and the cook shot him one last knowing look before she turned around and disappeared back into the busy kitchen to prepare dinner. Carson stood on the steps of the back entry, coat in hand, looking to his left, the kitchen, and right, the housekeeper's room, not sure which way he should go now. He decided to hang her coat and continue with his work, ignore Mrs Patmore at least until dinner had been served. Carson did not want to ruin the day that had been perfect so far. After all, it was their wedding day, a moment they had been waiting for a long time.

Slowly he made his way past her sitting room but stopped, when he saw that she had left the door ajar in her hurry. Elsie was sitting at her desk, a ledger open in front of her, pretending to work but he could see she was not. Her eyes were not fixed on the words and numbers written down on the pages but on something at the wall in front of her. One hand held her pen the other was pressed to her chest where he knew the two rings were hidden underneath her evening dress, securely tucked away, invisible to everyone else. He wanted go inside and hold her for a moment but the bustle from the kitchen reminded him of where he was and what he was. The head of the household, a butler to Lord and Lady Grantham. As long as their secret was only shared between the two of them, he had no choice but to continue his life as if nothing had changed.

Carson reluctantly averted his gaze and continued his walk down the corridor towards his pantry where he sat down in front of the open wine ledger only to stare blindly at the columns he had added earlier. His mind was occupied with something else entirely.

* * *

**1915**

What a disappointment their return to Downton had been. She had naively expected them to get back into the house unnoticed, so that they could spend a few more minutes in her sitting room alone, commemorate the day and its events. But of course Mrs Patmore had to interrupt their homecoming.

The day was not exactly ruined but Elsie avoided him for the rest of the evening, only engaged in the necessary conversation when their work required it. If this was how it would be from now on, cold and distant during the day and the only private moments shared after everyone else had gone to bed, she had to accept it early, get used to their new relationship as soon as possible. Whenever she knew that no one was watching her, Elsie felt for the hidden rings, reminded her that this was not the end of a long courtship but only the beginning. One day they would inform the family, share their secret with the others. But until then they had to be cautious. Still, today was their wedding day and she would make sure that they celebrated it in the best possible way. Even if the only thing they would be able to do was to share a glass of wine later.

Elsie entered the servant's hall, determined to send everyone to bed since dinner upstairs was over for a while now. The sooner they were all asleep the earlier she could finally enjoy her evening. To her surprise the only person still sitting at the large table was Mrs Patmore, a book open in front of her and a small notepad next to it.

"Where are the others?"

The cook looked up from her notes. "Oh, Mr Carson sent them to bed already and I'll be up as soon as I've finished this."

Elsie studied the expression on Mrs Patmore's face, tried to find out whether the cook had just made a simple observation or if there was more hidden between the lines, the same suspicion she had greeted them with earlier. Her usual grin was missing, the tone in her voice had sounded completely normal. "Then I'll better finish my work too. I don't want to be the last one down here."

"He's making his rounds at the moment." Mrs Patmore put away her pen. "Didn't look really happy if you ask me. As if something's bothering him."

She could think of a few things that he was not happy with today. First of all their missed chance of spending the rest of the day together in privacy. Then of course Mrs Patmore's comment earlier. Elsie was about to comment on the cook's observation when she heard his footsteps on the stairs, approaching the servant's hall.

"Everyone in bed?" His voice was low and had an unpleasant angry undertone that sent a shiver down Elsie's spine.

"Went up the minute you told them to. And I'll be on my way now too." Mrs Patmore packed her things together and wished them a good night before she climbed the stairs to the attic bedrooms.

They waited until they could no longer hear her footsteps on the wooden stairs. Finally they were alone with no prying eyes and eavesdropping maids surrounding them. Elsie looked at him, her husband, standing in the doorway, the large heavy key for the front door in his hands, staring at her with a loving twinkle in his eyes. There was no sign of the anger she had detected in his voice earlier. It had vanished the moment Mrs Patmore had left the room and the stern butler had been replaced by the man he was only in her presence. "Finally?" He asked.

"Finally." Elsie wanted to rest her head on his chest and embrace him, get lost for a moment before they started their evening together, but she could not find the courage although no one was around. "It's been a long and exciting day, hasn't it?" Instead she moved forwards slowly, passed him without touching him, and switched off the lights in the servant's hall leaving only the corridor lit. "Time to rest?"

"If you'll wait a minute?" He disappeared into his pantry. While she waited, a sudden nervousness hit her. They were now really on their own downstairs, only the two of them, married, allowed to kiss and touch each other. She had not though about the physical part of their marriage yet. Of course there had been dreams and moments when she longed for his touch but it was more important to know that he was at her side, that they belonged together as a couple, legally wedded. The last time she had shared a bed with a man was a long time ago, in a different live, before she decided to become a housemaid in one the large estates close to where she grew up. Elsie closed her eyes for just a moment, took a few deep breaths to calm her nerves. This was Charles Carson, a man she had known for so many years. There was nothing to be afraid of.

She heard him returning to where she was standing, then the click of the light switch before darkness surrounded them. "Shall we go?" His hand gently touched her cheek.

Elsie opened her eyes. "Yes, please."

* * *

The key he held in his hand was not supposed to be used. He had taken it out of the key box in his pantry where he stored the many iron and brass keys used for the guest bedrooms, wine cellar and the main door. Elsie also kept a few of them in her sitting room, the ones she used on a daily basis. But some of them were left in his care. They were both keepers of the keys, responsible for each and every room in this large house. She took care of cleaning them, kept the dust and mould out of the rarely used bedrooms. He made sure no one had access to any of them unless they were entitled to. Sometimes it felt strange to live in this grand house but not be part of it at all.

The weight of the brass key reminded him of this but he had made his decision and for one night it did not matter that he was about to break yet another rule. He took her hand and gently kissed it. She was trembling slightly and her nervousness almost made him reject his plan.

"Trust me." He could hardly see her face in the darkness but her eyes were looking back at him, and she nodded imperceptibly.

* * *

Slowly they climbed the stairs together in the dark. He never let go of her hand until they reached the first floor and Carson opened the baize door that led them onto the gallery. All was quiet and he slowly manoeuvred them along the dimly lit corridor, careful not to make a sound. They would not remain here anyway. It was too risky. When they had reached the end of the first passage, he turned around and listened closely to the sounds around them. Aside from the buzzing of the few electric lamps that lit the hall and a faint snoring audible all was silent. The door he opened next guided them to the East wing, traditionally used to accommodate guests during elaborate dinner parties and shooting lunches. While the country was at war, such activities were suspended and the rooms unused.

"Where are we going?" Her voice was only a whisper and as far as he could tell, the nervousness had not subsided.

"The Glasgow Room." They stopped walking for a moment and Carson made sure Elsie could see his face in the dark. "It is my wedding present to you." With his free hand he gently caressed her cheek. "We are far away from everyone else. Don't worry."

"I am a bit nervous." She leaned into his touch.

"Don't be." He tried to sound confident, for both of them. Although he could understand why she was afraid of their first night together. So many years they had lived in the belief that their work defined their lives until they drew their last breath. The house came first, then the maids and footmen, hallboys and kitchen staff. Private matters were not important. But now everything had changed within the course of a few months. Suddenly there was her, him, their relationship, moments of privacy stolen from the many hours of work. There had not been enough time to get used to it.

"I love you." He kissed her forehead then continued their walk through the dark and silent house until they reached their destination. Before he unlocked the door, Carson once again made sure to make eye contact with Elsie. Only this time it was she who spoke first.

"I love you too." The words were not only an endearment but so much more. A lifetime spent together from this day onwards, the promise of happiness and joy even on the most dreadful days. Carson wanted to bend down and kiss her here and now then remembered the key in his hand. With a few swift movements he had opened the door, led Elsie inside and closed it behind them.

* * *

She had tried to ignore it, on their way upstairs to the East wing, in the moment he had told her that he loved her, when he had kissed her forehead in the darkness of the corridor. The nervousness had only intensified with every passing second. Elsie had relaxed a bit when they had kissed, once inside the room, long and tenderly, with an intension they had never shared before. But as soon as Charles had pulled away, she had started to tremble, the tension of the last few hours overwhelming her. Never before had she experienced such a feeling. Not even at her first day as a simple under housemaid, away from home for the first time. Elsie Hughes had always been a brave person. But in this situation her courage faltered.

Together they had sat down on the large bed, Charles had pulled her close and her head now rested on his shoulder. "I am sorry. This is an unfamiliar situation for me."

"If you'd rather want to go downstairs again for a glass of wine and…," but she interrupted him by lifting her head.

"No." She looked into his eyes for a few seconds. "This is our wedding night and probably one of the rare moments we will find the time to be alone together."

"We do not have to…," This time he stopped him with a kiss.

"We will. And if we don't, I have something to look forward to." Her hands were still not steady but Elsie pushed her nervousness away now, concentrated on the buttons of his waistcoat. She unbuttoned the first few, gaining more self-confidence the further she got. He did not stop her, waited patiently for her to finish before he slowly slipped out of his tailcoat and removed the open waistcoat next. She had seen him like this before, during busy days when he had rushed downstairs both pieces of clothing still in his hands, finished dressing in his pantry before ringing the dressing gong. However, this was different. Elsie undressed him, not the other way around.

Her hands started to pull at the white bow-tie, opened it and removed it entirely. Then he stopped her.

"You cannot do this all on your own. Turn around please."

Elsie took a deep breath and did as he asked. There were a few hooks at the neck of her dress that she could easily close herself. The buttons were at the front, making her evening dress more comfortable to wear, but most importantly, she did not require the help of a maid when she changed into it in the afternoons. Charles noticed this within a few seconds and she could hear him chuckle behind her back.

"It has been a long time since I last undressed a woman."

"Would you like to continue? Because then I would turn around again." Elsie let herself fall back against his chest.

"I would appreciate it." He whispered into her ear, then placed a small kiss next to it that made her shiver.

* * *

TBC soon!ish


	20. Chapter 20

**What remains of the Past**

_A/N You probably heard about the "fanfiction incident" where a journalist made PL read out an M-rated Carson/Hughes fanfic. In consequence of that, some writers have taken down all or some of their fics which makes me really really really sad. But I can understand it. If this chapter would be read by one of the actors I would be horrified but I won't stop writing because this here is for the fans and if this gets ridiculed by a journalist one day (I don't think it ever will) I will fight this person!  
_

_thanks for your reviews so far! _

**chapter 20**

* * *

_**1915**_

She had never slept in a bed this size where she could not even reach the nightstand with her outstretched arm and her feet never reached the end of the bedframe. Contentedly Elsie moved her body closer to his, let herself be embraced by his strong arms. Her cheek rested on the top of his naked chest, her leg was thrown over one of his. She was still wearing her shift and Charles had kept his undergarments on, only removed his vest. It was enough for tonight. She did not need more. The feel of his skin against her own was all she wanted for now. Her hand absentmindedly stroked the greying hairs on his chest before she placed small kisses to the places she could easily reach without moving too much.

"This feels very good." His hand played with her hair, freeing it from the remaining pins.

She continued her ministrations, moved her hand over his belly towards the hem of the duvet that covered their bodies. Before she could continue her exploration, he stopped her.

"Are you ready for this?" His voice was low, so full of longing. She had never heard him speak in this way and it touched something inside her that had been asleep for a long time. Elsie tried to concentrate on the feeling, tried to locate it and give it a name. When she finally knew what it was, it shocked and excited her a bit at the same time: desire, arousal.

She hesitated. Was she really ready for this? Her nervousness had not completely vanished yet but after undressing him slowly, she had found new courage and some of her self-confidence again. The fear she had experienced earlier, Elsie knew this now, was not directed at seeing Charles naked. He was beautiful to her, perfect even. What had made her tremble was the unfamiliar situation, one she had no experience with. Every day she handled her responsibilities with the greatest care. Years of practise and experience had given her the knowledge to execute her job almost without thinking about it. She knew what she was doing. Whereas here, with him, she was as inexperienced as a sixteen year old housemaid. There was a lot she had to learn. About her body, his body, their desires. But they would walk down this road together. She was not alone.

Maybe Elsie was not ready yet to express her affection for him physically by making love to him in a way it was expected between husband and wife, but she wanted to touch him, to find out what effect she had on him, start to learn and gain experience.

"I am." Elsie whispered and her hand moved forward inch by inch until she could feel him hard underneath her. Charles inhaled sharply, held his breath for a moment. She had never done this before but knew instantly that she liked what her hand felt, enjoyed how Charles tried to breathe calmly but failed at the attempt. Her fingers slowly moved back and forth then slipped inside his pants to touch the skin, warm and soft.

"Please, can you please…" Hearing his voice behind her startled her and Elsie quickly withdrew her hand.

"I am sorry." She scooted back up until their faces were next to each other, sharing the large white pillow. "I didn't mean to cause you any discomfort."

Charles brushed the hair away from her face. "Actually I am happy that you did." A soft kiss was planted on her forehead. "I have never been so happy in my life as in this very moment."

Now it was Elsie's turn to kiss him. On his nose first, then his right cheek until she finally found his lips, and after a few seconds she got lost in the deepest and most loving kiss they had ever exchanged. They were married now, husband and wife, sharing a bed, free to do whatever they liked. For once the decision they had made was not about the house, did not affect the staff. It was only about them, their lives, their future.

* * *

He awoke the next morning to a light snoring right next to his ear. Elsie's head rested on his shoulder, her arm was draped across his chest. Around them the world was still wrapped in the darkness of the early hours of the day. Carson turned his head and tried to read the small clock on the nightstand. The hands had not reached five o'clock, which meant they still had a bit of time, to wake up, to start their first day as a married couple.

He planted a kiss on her hair, gently stroked her bare arm. The strap of her chemise had fallen down her shoulder, exposing her collarbone. For a split second he was tempted to explore what was hidden underneath the cream coloured garment, the longing to see her naked body stronger than ever. Carson knew she was beautiful, perfect even. His fingers tentatively touched her collarbone, but he withdrew them a second later when Elsie began to stir and opened her eyes.

"Good morning, my love." He kissed her forehead. "Have you slept well?"

She closed her eyes again, moved closer although she was almost lying atop of him already. "It can't be morning already," Elsie mumbled sleepily.

"I am afraid it is. 5 in the morning."

"Then we can sleep for a few more minutes."

He chuckled at her statement. This was all new to him, to them. Waking up in each other's arms, sleeping in the same bed, after having spent the night together. "We can indeed. But we mustn't forget that we are not in our rooms."

* * *

They had got dressed quickly and Elsie had made the bed. The room looked presentable again, not a trace was left that indicated that it had been used during the night. Fast, but without hurry, they had made their way back up to their rooms. One last chaste kiss was shared in a dark corner of the stairwell before they left for their separate bedrooms to get ready for the day.

Charles somehow managed to get into his day suit quicker than normally, he shaved, made sure his hair looked presentable again, then sat down at his desk. This had been it, their first night and now the first day as husband and wife. It had been exciting and unreal, inspiring and wonderful. So very different from what he had imagined a wedding night to be as a young lad. Still, he could not be happier.

In less than thirty minutes, one of the hallboys would knock on his door to wake him and the daily routine would start again. How strange would it be to know that last night had changed everything for him? He was no longer a bachelor butler but a married man. To the outside world he would still play this role, one he had perfected so much over the years that he could do it effortlessly. But there was always be the knowledge that it was only a façade, required for the job. He could let go of it whenever he was with her. A new freedom, a new chapter of his life.

* * *

**_2013_**

Viola wondered whether there had a been a wedding night between butler and housekeeper and the minute the thought had entered her mind, she could not get rid of it. She assumed that he was nearing 60 years of age and Mrs Hughes was at least in her mid fifties. To fall in love with someone at that age was still complicated in 2013. And she was not sure how people in the 1910s thought about love and sex. Had she lived in that era, Viola would have been married to some rich aristocrat already and probably been blessed with at least two children before she reached thirty. Having a few boyfriends before finding Mr Right had been out of the question. Her wedding night would have been her first encounter with a naked man. This must have been a bit shocking for some of the young women. And how about Mrs Hughes? She had worked in service for such a long time already, had obviously rejected a marriage proposal at least once. Did this mean she had made her experiences with men already? Or was Mr Carson her first?

The diary was still lying open before her and Viola reread the entry from January 19th again. It spoke of their affection but did not mention a possible wedding night. Perhaps he wrote about it at a later date? She skipped a few entries that spoke about difficulties running the estate because of food shortage. More men had fallen in France, the usual London season was suspended in 1915 and the family stayed at Downton. An entry in late July finally caught her attention.

_July 19__th__ 1915_

_It is strange to think that for the first time in twenty years I spend my summer here at Downton and not in London. Every day now we get news from the continent. It is horrible to think about the poor lads in the trenches while we enjoy the summer sun in Yorkshire. Today we have spent the day outdoors preparing the annual bazaar. This year it is not purely meant to amuse people but to raise funds and to raise people's spirits. It is all we can do to help and I made sure that the rest of the staff understood the importance of this event. And yet at one point I fell victim to my own selfishness. How no one else noticed that we weren't present for half an hour still astonishes me. It was careless and we must never be so unthinking again. Perhaps the summer weather had turned our heads. I am a lovestruck fool. _

_We kissed in the Secret Garden, secluded from the house, hidden behind the large rhododendrons. And I almost could not stop myself. I am glad Elsie kept a clear head at least or we might have ended up …, I do not want to think about it again. It shames me that I had almost lost control. _

_The bazaar was a success. _

He had not finished that one sentence but Viola knew what the butler was implying here and it made her chuckle. Too bad the entry was so short. Obviously the last bit was added later, the ink look different when Viola brought the diary closer to the lamp. It must have been difficult for Mr Carson to write down such intimate thoughts and yet he did it. Perhaps to get them out of his head, to get rid of the guilt he was apparently feeling. The poor man. How hard must it have been to keep this all a secret?

She continued to flip through the pages just like she had done with the chronicle earlier. There must have been a hint somewhere, an entry that mentioned a talk between the butler and Lord Grantham. Or perhaps one of the other servants had found them out? Page after page she skimmed through the diary. Nothing. One entry was very short and sweet:

_November 3__rd__ 1915_

_I love her. Why have we waited for so long?_

And then she had suddenly reached the year 1916 and the tone of his entries changed; the lovestruck man had become serious.

* * *

TBC

only a short one because I haven't found the time to write more :(


	21. Chapter 21

_A/N So sorry for the long wait but you know: Christmas, New Years... and I lost my muse for a while. Enjoy reading and let me know what you think.  
_

**chapter 21  
**

* * *

There was something fascinating about this diary. She had not felt the same when reading his letters to Mrs Hughes. The butler had not been a person who easily revealed his feelings or thoughts, neither on paper nor in front of other people. Viola reckoned him to be very guarded in combination with a stern outward appearance that did not reveal how insecure he was when it came to his own feelings. His letters were interesting, filled with a lot of information about himself, the house, his work, albeit hidden between the lines, probably only detectable by Mrs Hughes who had known him for so many years already. The diary on the other hand showed a much more private side of Mr Carson. He did not necessarily reveal everything that was going through his mind but there were moments when Viola got a glimpse of the vulnerable, kind and loving man the butler was. Still, the longer the war raged on the continent, the more distant and serious his entries became.

She snuggled deeper into her sleeping bag and took another sip from her wine, rearranged the cushions behind her back and continued reading.

_May 5__th__, 1916_

_Every other day news from the front line reaches us. Mr Crawley is fighting in France, risking his life for us, for King and country. It is honourable but foolish when we all know that this war is fought with weapons so horrible one cannot even imagine them and one cannot escape the destruction they cause. The hospital in the village, so Dr Clarkson told me the other day, is treating men who have lost their legs, eyesight, or arms. Such unimaginable horrors! What has become of this world? There had always been wars but this particular one seems to be the cruellest so far._

_Whilst others protect our country from the enemy, we must keep up standards. No one should later say that the home front surrendered. We need to be strong even if it means additional work for me. There is a lot to organize for the concert his Lordship holds in a few days and with only one footman left, I have to pull my weight. She does not agree with me, in fact, we haven't talked properly for a few days. I know Elsie does not want me to take on the extra work but it has to be done. I cannot choose how much work there is for me. What has to be done needs to be done. I whish she would understand that. _

Viola could only imagine how difficult it must have been for Mr Carson to run the house with less staff and less provisions. He had to handle the shortages on a larger scale than the simple housemaid who got her orders from the housekeeper, or the kitchen maid who might have realized that the food the cook prepared was still extravagant but lacked a few things. From the tone of his diary entry, Viola concluded that the butler most certainly also had problems or perhaps a misunderstanding with his wife, the housekeeper of Downton Abbey. She wasn't mentioned at all in the entries prior to May 5th or after that day. So their relationship might have been very tense during these weeks. Viola assumed that beyond their work there was no other topic the two talked about. It made her a bit sad, knowing that this loving couple could not simply ignore their duties for a few hours or days and concentrate on their relationship. Had she been in such a situation, Viola would have tried to avert the crisis by talking to her boyfriend even if he did not want to. They would have found the time after work. But these two had no private lives. You could not count the hours they had left after a busy day as free time. Viola heaved a sigh. As romantic as their courting had seemed and later their marriage, it could not be compared to life nowadays.

She read the next entries in the diary, always looking for her name or a hint that the butler and housekeeper had managed to find a moment for a private conversation. But she could not find anything. Only in early June, did Mr Carson mention Mrs Hughes again, however his words did not speak about their love, their companionship or of the comfort they could and should give each other during these difficult years. Obviously the couple had had several arguments over the running of the estate.

_June 2__nd__ 1916_

_She does not understand why I need to work longer every night. I have tried to discuss it, emphasised the necessity of running the house exactly the way we used to the other day but she was her usual stubborn self. It is vital to not let things slide. We need to motivate the staff, need to show them the importance the large estates have in these times of uncertainty and chaos. Downton has to be strong. We need to set an example. _

_Instead of sharing a glass of wine with her or our usual cup of tea, I am sitting in my room, alone. We haven't spoken privately for weeks now. All we did was fight. Although we work in the same house, we hardly see each other these days. I miss her but she has to understand that I cannot ignore my work. Especially not now when we are already short of a footman and will probably lose another soon. I cannot bear to think about it now. The world is falling apart around us and there is nothing we can do to stop it. _

* * *

_**1916**_

With Mr Barrow gone and William possibly leaving soon, he wondered how on earth he should keep up standards without risking the reputation of Downton Abbey. Every day a new burden was added to his load of work. Not only small things like having to polish all the silver himself but most of the tasks he had routinely delegated to William or Thomas were now his sole responsibility too. He tried to handle the extra chores as best as he could but the additional work tired him out. Carson would never admit this to anyone but he could not completely hide his exhaustion from her. It was easy for Elsie to tell him to slow down when she still had all her maids to help her in her daily routine, whereas he had only William left and a few of the older, more responsible hall boys to help him with minor tasks. There was no possible way to look for a new footman when most of the young men were either fighting in France or received their training for active duty.

Elsie had repeatedly suggested asking Anna to help him out but he would never have a maid in the dining room. Not when there were still some boys he could at least train to a certain extent. They might not be tall enough, might lack the knowledge of how to serve at a large dinner, but they were better than a female servant.

And now they were having another one of their fights. Directly after luncheon when all he had wanted to do was to sit down and relax for a moment, a few minutes. But she had followed him into his pantry and he could tell that she was furious, could see it in her face, in the way she moved. He knew when the storm was hitting land, at the very moment the door closed behind her.

"You can't go on like this! Stop being so incredibly stubborn!" She stood there with her hands on her hips, face flushed with anger. If the situation had not been so serious, he would have kissed her, told her all would be fine and she had nothing to worry about. But this was not about a simple misunderstanding, they were not quarrelling about a footman who had misbehaved or a maid with bad manners. This was about his principles, the things that were most important to him.

"It's not how it's done!" His voice sounded harsh, strict, demanding. "And you know that! There are certain standards we have to keep up or otherwise we'll be ruined."

"Nonsense! We can't do things the way we've always done them. You know this as well as I do." Elsie hissed.

"I know that. But there is nothing I can do! And we won't discuss this any further." He would not allow her another say in this discussion, turned around and left his pantry, stomping up the stairs although he had no business upstairs. He fled, it was as simple as that, he ran away from her, from yet another discussion. Carson was tired of their constant fighting, even more exhausted by it than by his work. They had to come to an agreement. Soon.

* * *

In good times and in bad times. She thought about this one sentence over and over again, their vows, spoken one and a half year ago on a cold January day when they had promised to support the other until they both drew their last breath. This was how it should be between them, a relationship build on trust and the will to accept help in hard and trying times. Elsie wanted to be the person he could rely on, had always been there for him no matter how unapproachable he had been in the past. Small fights, arguments, misunderstandings had been solved by talking about them. Sometimes it took them a mere few hours to apologize, more often a couple of days. And even then, they always came to an understanding, always found a way out of the crisis. Since the beginning of this year however, their disputes had become painful. She worried about him, more than before they were married, could not bear to lose him because of this war. He was overworked, exhausted, tired and every day she feared he would simply collapse.

After he had left her behind, like a lowly servant who did not deserve any respect from the butler, she had retreated into her sitting room to work on her accounts. Angrily she added the recent expenses, crossed out items, made new entries. The fountain pen scratched over the delicate paper, inkblots ruined a fresh page, she misspelled a word, crossed it out, had to start again. She simply could not concentrate, was too angry at him, at the stupid war, her work, the house. Elsie tossed away her pen, slammed the book shut and took a few deep breaths in order to calm down. There was no use in letting her anger out this way. It would only result in a headache or, even worse, a migraine. And the last thing she needed was to fall ill.

For a while she simply sat at her desk, eyes closed, concentrating on the sounds and smells around her. The chatter from the kitchen, the maids running up and down the corridor, the backdoor opening and closing, the smells of cigarette smoke wafting into her room when O'Brien passed it.

"We can do this." She whispered to herself. "We will get through this."

* * *

_**2013**_

Viola turned another page, curios what had happened next, if Mr Carson spoke about a reunion, if there was another passage that spoke of their relationship. Somehow this had become the most interesting thing to her. Like a TV series she could not stop watching because she was so attracted to this one relationship between two characters that after every new episode she longed for more. The difference was that this was real. These people had actually lived here, had worked in this house. It was not fictional, something invented by a clever writer. Everything told in the letters and written down in his diary had actually happened.

It warmed Viola's heart to think about these two people. They had overcome so many obstacles, most importantly the ones they had created themselves. And then the war seemed to have pulled them apart somehow. She hoped and wished to find an entry where Mr Carson mentioned a kiss or a moment alone between the couple.

When she finally did, she almost spilled half her wine onto the sleeping bag because the first words were like a shock. Then she realized that Mr Carson had not written about his wife dying in his arms but merely recounted an evening of marital bliss after the hardships of a busy week. Viola felt silly that such a thought had even crossed her mind and indulged in the next few diary entries.

_June 30__th__ 1916_

_She fell asleep in my arms. So peacefully I dared not move in fear of waking her up. Now she is sleeping in my bed whilst I sat down to recall the day. It has been a long time since we last shared a bed or even an evening together. How grateful I am for her I cannot describe in words. Should anyone ever read these lines they will think me a fool for confiding my thoughts to a simple leather bound volume. _

_This night is a blessing though it will not make up for the happenings of the past day. Mr Bates has left us. Another tragedy we could not avoid. Elsie has told me some part of the story but I am still not sure what the real reason for Mr Bates' departure has been. There is more to the story than meets the eye. And we will probably find out about it soon enough although I do not wish to be involved in it more than necessary. _

* * *

_**1916  
**_

Elsie had been looking for the head housemaid for half an hour, had searched for her everywhere downstairs, had sent maids upstairs to look into Anna's bedroom. The girl had vanished after dinner was over and Elsie had started to worry. It was not like Anna to forget about her duties or to disappear without a word and explanation. However, in a house as large as Downton Abbey, the housekeeper knew every possible hiding place and her last chance was the backyard. A place used for taking short breaks or for simply getting some fresh air in the middle of a busy day. It was not necessarily a refuge one would seek but it was better than being surrounded by your co-workers.

She found Anna outdoors, sitting on an empty crate, her small figure shaken by sobs. The darkness had not concealed her well enough and her muffled crying was clearly audible to the trained ear although an upcoming storm shook the trees surrounding the backyard violently, resulting in a very unpleasant noise. Carefully Elsie approached the young woman and softly spoke to her as soon as she was close enough.

"Anna. I've been looking for you." She knelt down in front of her, gently taking the hands away from Anna's face. Even in the darkness, Elsie could see the red rimmed eyes, swollen from crying. The housemaid turned her face away, stared at the brick wall next to her.

"Please Mrs Hughes, leave me alone." Her voice was quivering.

"No, I won't. There's a storm coming and you better get inside." With one hand, she stroked the woman's tearstained cheek. "I'll make us a cup of tea and then I'll send you up to bed."

"I have work to do." She did not sound convincing. It was merely an excuse to be left alone.

"You haven't. I already told Madge and Alice to take over your evening chores." Elsie turned Anna's face towards her. "Look at me Anna. We will find a way. But there is no use in crying over him now."

The head housemaid made eye contact for a split second before fresh tears welled up and ran down her cheeks. "I will never see him again."

"You will. We'll find a way", Elsie repeated then tried to pull Anna up back to her feet. "Now come inside. It will start raining soon and I don't want you to catch pneumonia."

* * *

"She's heartbroken. The poor girl." She was pacing his pantry, wringing her hands, and every now and then, playing with the keys that dangled from the chains attached to her belt. "This is the hardest thing for her." She passed by his chair for the umpteenth time, did not stop walking once since she had come in ten minutes ago. "I've send her upstairs to her room but I doubt she'll get some rest."

"Elsie." Saying her name had no effect. She continued her pacing, mumbled something incoherent to herself. "Mrs Carson." He tried again. That stopped her dead in her tracks, and she stared at his face, probably realizing that she had been miles away, before she sat down in the chair next to him.

"Oh I am sorry Charles." Her posture was tense, the back straight. Even though she had finally stopped her nervous pacing, Elsie had not come to rest. It was obvious that Anna's distress troubled her immensely.

"We should call it a night. Things might look better in the morning." He reached out to take hold of her hands. Elsie gave a jerk when his fingers touched her skin. "You need to calm down."

"How can I possibly calm down?" She stared at the opposite wall, her voice was small, so very quiet he could almost not hear her.

Carson could not remember when he had last seen her so fragile and lost. Every day a housemaid had her heart broken, every day she tended to the homesick young servants. She was a practical person not one who got emotionally involved in the lives of the people under her jurisdiction. That was one reason he loved her so much. He knew that Anna was one of her favourites, that the two women were close but he had never thought about their relationship much until tonight. Elsie was heartbroken too. There was no other way to describe it.

Slowly he stood up and went to stand before her, took her hands and pulled her out of the chair towards him, not knowing that she had done the exact same thing with Anna a few hours earlier. Elsie did not protest, nor look at him in the process. He cradled her head on his broad chest, embraced her and drew her close, his hands gently stroking her back.

"Spend the night with me." He whispered into her hair.

* * *

Outside the storm was raging. Heavy rain pelted against the small window in his bedroom, the sound not at all peaceful or relaxing but she was nevertheless sleeping soundly in his arms. The bed was too small, as usual, but as long as they were together, things like these did not really matter. She was in his arms, her body warm and soft, pressing against his chest. He had draped one arm around her waist, rested his hand on her belly, his fingers playing with the fabric of her simple cotton nightgown. His other arm was lying above her head. She often used it as an extra pillow, sleeping on his open palm. How often his hand deadened over night he could not remember. Every moment they could spend together like this was worth it.

He kissed her neck once more before he closed his eyes. Elsie stirred in her sleep, her cold feet touched his bare legs. Carson winced at the contact. The times they had the chance to share a bed were rare and so he learned new things about her every night she slept in his arms. With his feet, he tried to pull the duvet a bit tighter around them.

"What are you doing?" She mumbled sleepily.

"Shhh, sleep my love. I was just trying to warm your feet."

"Thank you." Her hand enclosed the one resting on her skin, squeezing it lightly before the grip loosened when she drifted back to sleep.

Once more Carson closed his eyes, ready to fall asleep next to his wife. But the rain and the thoughts about Mr Bates and Anna troubled him too much.

* * *

TBC


End file.
